Heavy Lies the Crown
by luckei1
Summary: For seven years, Draco has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and just when he thinks he'll be released, something happens that will make him seek help from the last person he could have imagined.
1. Door Number Three

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 1**** - - Door Number Three**

**- - -**

Draco stood perfectly still outside the door that led from Azkaban prison to the Ministry of Magic. He was the image of eternal patience, in pristine and exquisite hand-tailored robes, his long, thin hands clasped behind him. On the middle finger of his right hand he wore the Malfoy signet ring. It was ten generations old and a symbol of the prestige carried by the family name. He wore his hair at the same length he had in his later years of school, with a long fringe in front but well kept. His eyes were bright, and upon very close inspection, betrayed a hint of the delight and relief he felt at finally standing in that spot, on that day.

Though the prison was located on an island in the North Sea, it was linked with the Ministry of Magic by a special Apparition point. This was necessary for the secure transportation of prisoners to and from various trials and hearings. Only two people were allowed to Apparate at a time, the prisoner and a guard, and the transportation was enacted not by the travelers, but by an operative on the Ministry side who simply pressed a button. The destination point in the Ministry could only be reached from Azkaban, and vise-versa.

The prisoner was shackled prior to Apparition, and a band was placed on the left ankle of both he and the guard. The band served to activate the magic in the Apparition device; without it, nothing happened when the operative performed his duty.

Draco's eyes darted to a clock on the wall above the door. He had less than two minutes. Something inside his sternum loosened, and he took a deep breath, the semblance of a smile beginning to form at the corners of his lips. The sensation was so foreign that he took note of it, and a light feeling settled in his heart that he barely recognized as something akin to happiness.

The seconds ticked by, and with each one, he felt his spirits lift. His expression remained impassive and his position statue-like, yet Draco felt like laughing at the irony: he had never in his life been so happy at the thought of seeing his father.

Standing beside Draco was his mother, dressed in a set of robin's egg blue robes that brought out the color of her eyes and highlighted the pink in her cheeks. She, too, stood perfectly still, staring at the door. In one hand she held a folded Chinese fan; in the other, a small black bag which contained another token, one that she treasured above all others for everything it stood for.

Her heart was pounding and her blood racing, but she, too, maintained an impassive facade. Her son's apparent ease seeped through her and kept her heart from bursting and her from inching toward the door with every second that passed. She marveled at how calm he seemed, how remote. From looking at him, had she not known, she would never have guessed that the last time Draco spoke to his father had been heated and ugly, poisonous words spoken that sliced deep. He almost seemed … eager?

One man stood between Narcissa and Draco and the door. A Ministry guard, in the customary grey and blue uniform, stood as sentry at the door, ever ready to foil an escape and to make sure that the right prisoner would emerge through the door.

Behind the pair of Malfoys stood Harry Potter and the Minister of Magic himself, Arthur Weasley. Arthur was also still, but Harry kept fidgeting. He'd made a promise to Lucius Malfoy and he intended to keep it, but he was nervous about greeting the man in the presence of his family.

The room itself was bare, with grey walls and a black tile floor. A table sat in one corner, upon which sat a small box that contained what Draco presumed were his father's belongings, everything he had on his person at the time of his arrest. Beside the box was a small stack of papers and a quill. A door behind everyone led into the Ministry's lowest level through a series of hallways not seen by the general public. The hallway had doors lining both walls, and on the other side of each door was a staircase that led up into a different courtroom.

Draco exhaled when the minute hand met the hour hand on the twelve and his eyes fell once again to the door. A few seconds passed, and then the knob twisted—Draco blinked, the only outward sign of his anticipation—and finally the door swung open.

Through it walked another guard, one hand holding his wand and the other firmly clasped around the arm of Lucius Malfoy. Draco sucked in his breath upon seeing his father. Prison had not been kind to him. He looked thin, almost gaunt, the way prisoners looked during the years the Dementors reigned over the prison. His hands were magically bound behind his back, and he wore the grey prison garb of Azkaban. His hair, once long and sleek, was cut to his chin and looked unwashed and brittle.

At the sound of Draco's sharp intake of air, Lucius looked up and their eyes locked. Draco was assaulted with emotions and memories, good and bad, of his childhood under the watchful eye of his father.

Lucius nodded slightly and then turned to look at his wife. His eyes were intense as he stared at her, and Draco thought they might have been having a silent conversation, so fixedly they watched one another.

Draco knew his mother wanted nothing more than to rush across the room and throw herself into Lucius' arms, but her pride and upbringing held her back. She would keep her dignity in public, even though the only witnesses would be Potter, the Minister and two guards.

Once the portal door closed, Arthur Weasley stepped around Draco and went to Lucius.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said, his voice strong and confident. "Welcome. I trust you were treated well."

Lucius took his time replying, as though trying out the words for the first time. "Well enough," he replied, finally removing his gaze from his wife's face and settling it on the Minister.

"As Molly would say, you look a bit peckish, but I've no doubt that will soon be rectified." Arthur nodded to the guard still flanking Lucius, and the man removed the bonds on Lucius's hands.

Though the shackles were magical, Lucius still rubbed his wrists as though in pain.

Arthur then put a hand on Lucius's arm and led him to the small table and the stack of papers. "We've got just a few things for you to sign, and of course some items to return to you. These are all standard forms," continued Arthur, separating the pile into three. "We've returned the articles on your person at the time of your arrest, and this stack of documents details the terms of your parole. I believe the Undersecretary went over those with you, did she not?"

"She did," Lucius responded quietly.

"Excellent. Here's the quill. Please sign here … and there … initial here … there … and finally sign here."

While his father completed the necessary paperwork for his release from prison, Draco became aware of Potter fidgeting behind him. He had been annoyed in the extreme when he learned that the war hero would be attending his father's release, but Narcissa had informed him that there was a perfectly good explanation for it. She simply refused to explain, nearly ruining Draco's good mood.

Now Potter's slight movements were grating on his nerves. He wanted to collect his father and leave with as little disturbance as possible, something that was already unlikely considering the nature of the man being released. It would be considerably harder to duck out of the Ministry with Harry-bloody-Potter tailing along. However, if he had no intention of speaking to them outside of the room, Draco decided he could put up with the other man's presence for a short while.

He could not, however, tolerate Potter's incessant shuffling. Lucius and Arthur were bent over the table, the ever-alert guards keeping their eyes trained on Lucius and their hands near their wands. Narcissa was watching her husband intently, her only movements the steady clenching of her hand around the black bag.

Draco turned his head slightly to the right, raised his hand to his mouth and fisted it, then coughed. Just as he finished, his eyes moved to Potter's for the briefest of moments. Harry stopped moving and Draco returned to his stoic position.

Narcissa looked at him questioningly and Draco knew she was worried. Had he coughed before and she missed it? Was he catching something? Should she get him a cup of tea? Should he lie down?

He shook his head slightly and gave her a tiny smile, hoping it would stop the questions in her mind. She worried about him too much, still fretted over him as a mother was wont to do and would make him wear his heavy cloak if she thought it was cold outside. It was one of the reasons he longed for a place of his own, but he had felt a duty to remain with his mother in his father's absence. Now that Lucius was free, perhaps he could think about moving out of the Manor. After all, his duties there would soon be returned to his father.

"There, that should be everything," said Arthur, straightening. He handed Lucius the box on the table. "Is it all there?"

Lucius glanced into the box, and without inspecting anything closely, nodded.

Draco's heart panged at the sight of his father, once tall, strong and handsome, reduced to feeble nods and unsure hands.

"Good, good." Arthur looked from Narcissa to Draco and back to Lucius. "All is in order, then. The Ministry thanks you for serving your time without complaint and bids you a good day and a happy life."

Something flashed in Lucius's eyes, but Draco couldn't place the emotions he saw; they might have been anger, pride, humiliation, or any combination. When he spoke, his words were precise and short. "My wand?"

Arthur reddened slightly and scrambled in an inner pocket. "Ah, yes, of course! Can't forget that, can we? Here you are, good as the day you last saw it."

When Lucius's fingers, at first hesitant, wrapped around the hilt of the wand, Draco saw an immeasurable change come over him. It may only have been visible in the way his eyes took on a steely glint, or in his general countenance, but it was a radical change nonetheless. He had a wand; he was a wizard again.

Draco understood completely. While he had awaited trial after the war, though the period was brief, he'd been required to hand over his wand. He'd felt defenseless, inept, and impotent. Suddenly he was no better than a Muggle, left to rely on his fists and his wits. In a prison where Dementors didn't haunt the halls, stealing any good thoughts or memories, the arrangements were much like any Muggle prison, except with magical means of restraint, control, and captivity.

He saw very quickly that prison would be nothing like school, where he was protected by two large friends, a favorite teacher, and a name that heralded his right to magic. He knew he wouldn't have lasted long in prison and was more grateful to Harry Potter than he could possibly express upon his release, though he would rather swallow flaming swords than admit it.

"How has your time in office been?" asked Lucius.

"Oh, it's been … busy," Arthur replied, obviously surprised by the question.

"I see. Do let me know if there is any way I might be of service."

"I … will do that, Lucius, thank you," said Arthur.

Lucius nodded and turned to his family, then noticed Harry for the first time. He raised an eyebrow. "Potter. You kept your word."

Harry strode forward, confident now at having been addressed. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"Honestly?" Lucius paused. "I expected you to approach me in a less … public manner. This will do, however."

Draco watched with curiosity so strong it was nearly painful as Harry reached into his robes and removed a small box. He set the box on the table and tapped it with his wand, muttering a spell under his breath. The box ballooned in size to roughly the size of a shoebox. It was made of wood, very old, and the Malfoy crest was engraved, though dulled over time, on the top. An odd sensation settled in the pit of Draco's stomach; he'd never seen the box in his life, and both of his parents seemed relieved to have it back.

Narcissa finally allowed herself to smile when she saw the box. Lucius tapped the box and it returned to its shrunken state. He handed it to Narcissa, who put it inside the black bag she had been holding. At the same time, she removed the bag's previous contents and held her hand out to Lucius.

Draco knew how important this was for his parents and didn't like that there were so many people present. Just as his mother prepared to slip a gold band on his father's hand, Draco turned his head to give them some privacy. His eyes met Harry's. Somehow, Potter knew more about that box than he did, and the knowledge only troubled him further.

"Thank you, Harry," said Narcissa, extending her hand to the black-haired wizard.

"You are welcome, Mrs. Malfoy," he replied, and lightly shook her hand.

"Is that everything?" Arthur asked, glancing from Harry to Lucius.

"Yes," said Lucius, removing his cloak from the items returned to him and wrapping it around his shoulders.

Draco caught a glint of gold on his father's ring finger and, a surge of warmth and loyalty toward his family coursed through him.

Arthur nodded to the guards, and one returned to Azkaban, the other to his post by the door. He led the Malfoys and Harry out of the room and down the long hallway in silence. When they reached the lift, he pressed the button for the Lobby level, and soon they were whisked up, arriving there in moments.

Draco took a deep breath to steel himself for what he expected to see on the other side of the door. The bell dinged and the lift opened. He wasn't disappointed. The entire lobby was full of people and they all started shouting at once when they spotted Lucius. A surge was detectable when they became aware that Harry was with the Malfoys.

Two guards on either side of the door joined them and led them through a roped-off path that led directly to a fireplace. Harry trailed behind the family, while reporters were scrambling for a chance to ask questions.

Draco completely ignored them, as did his parents. He nearly reacted, however, when a voice could be heard shouting over the din. "That Death Eater scum deserves to rot in the dankest, nastiest cell in Azkaban!"

He looked to his father; the only sign Lucius gave that he'd heard the man was a slight twitch of his lower lip. Other than that, he kept his eyes forward, and then took Narcissa's hand in his.

Once at the fireplace, Arthur took a handful of Floo powder. "Malfoy Manor, I presume?"

Narcissa nodded and Arthur shouted the destination while tossing the powder into the hearth. Green flames roared to life.

Lucius sent Narcissa through first, then turned to Arthur Weasley and extended a hand. The entire crowd fell silent and the sound of photographers rushing to ready their cameras was the only sound heard.

Arthur didn't hesitate to shake his hand, and then the crowd exploded with noise once again. Lucius nodded to the Minister and then released his hand and stepped into the flames.

Draco was about to follow when Harry clasped him on the back.

"Malfoy, mate. There's a pick up Quidditch game next weekend near the Burrow. We'd love to have you."

It was all Draco could do not to remove Potter's hand from his person. He was busy trying to determine what Harry had really meant, why he had extended an invitation to Draco to a game—to anything at all, really. Flashes were going off throughout the crowd and, not wanting to make a scene, thanked Harry and told him that he would check his schedule.

"Excellent. The Burrow for dinner afterward," Harry added, patting Draco's back again before exiting Draco's personal space.

Still stunned, Draco stepped into the fireplace without another word to Harry or to Arthur. He didn't envy what the two men were left with, nor did he care to think about it once he was safely inside his home.

Lucius and Narcissa were clenched fast in an embrace when Draco arrived and they seemed not to notice his arrival. He decided that he would speak with his father later and exited the room as quietly as he could.

Once safely away, Draco exhaled, not realizing he'd been holding his breath. He was glad his father was back, but he was concerned as well. What role would he want Draco to play in the business, if any? Draco had been forced into the position of head of the business upon Lucius' imprisonment, and though he had been successful in many endeavors, he had found that it wasn't his passion in life. He was good at it; had sharp instincts for running the company, but he preferred other things.

Draco reached the study and removed his cloak. "Chippy!" he called.

A house-elf with long ears and a short nose appeared within seconds. "Yes, Master?"

"Take my cloak, and see to it that my parents are not disturbed for anything. If you need something, come to me." He was about to dismiss the elf, when another thought occurred to him. "Oh, and let me know if anyone heads this way."

The elf bowed and took the cloak. "Yes, sir, Master, sir." Then he disappeared with a sharp pop.

Draco sighed and sat heavily in the mahogany and leather desk chair. For a few moments, he allowed his mind to empty, staring at the corner of the blotter where he had drawn a broom one day while bored. He hadn't been flying in over four years. The last time he'd been on a broom was when a few blokes from the local pub put together a little Quidditch league. He'd signed up immediately, under a false name, and been the first one on the pitch when they made teams.

He had been put on the blue squad, and their captain, Wilfred Hortlebee, led them to one corner to discuss practices and games and strategy, and then let them all fly around for a while. Draco had requested the Seeker position, but said he would play anything except Keeper if they wanted a chance at winning.

They flew for an hour and then Hortlebee called them down and started handing out their positions. Draco had colored his hair to a dark brown, but when Robin, a woman who could have easily passed for a bloke, looked him square in the eye, she recognized him and blurted out his name and said she refused to play with a Death Eater. She made such a ruckus that nearly half the people who'd shown up heard and most agreed with her.

Draco quickly bowed out and left, to the taunts and jeers of those still on the pitch. When he'd returned to the Manor, angry but at the same time understanding, he'd thrown his broom down the long entry hallway. Then he'd summoned an elf and told him to take the broom, hide it, and not give it back to Draco or let him see it.

He wondered now whether the elf would follow his earlier order, or return it to him. Almost grudgingly, Draco opened the top right drawer of his desk and took out his personal calendar. It was a cube; each side, when touched by his fingers, would reveal different information. He pressed the red side and the cube became a small folio. He opened it and scanned the lines for the following Saturday. He had an appointment with Pansy for lunch, but was otherwise free.

He reached for his quill, a chocolate brown falcon feather, but paused, his hand nearly touching the base. Was he really going to meet Potter for Quidditch in a little over a week? He retracted his arm and opened the bottom left drawer, selected a 2001 bottle of Old Ogden's Finest, and poured some into a glass. He downed the drink, feeling the burn as it traveled through him, merging with the knot in the pit of his stomach.

Harry Potter and he were not friends. They saw each other on average three and a half times a month when they crossed paths in the Ministry and spoke on only one or two of those occasions, if need required it. They were cordial, but never friendly. Draco had never extended an offer of friendship, nor apologized for his behavior in school. In his mind, Harry had behaved only marginally more civil towards him, and their shared enmity had been the result of the natural order of things. Children did not always get along, and once friendships were established, they rarely branched out and formed new social groups. Potter had snubbed his offer of friendship, and though Draco's actions had been misguided, his intentions had been true. He'd concluded long ago that it was Potter's loss …

For a fleeting moment, Draco wondered what would have happened had he successfully claimed friendship with Harry Potter that day. Would he have ended up fighting beside him? Or would there have been no war, because Potter would have given himself to the Dark Lord?

Draco shuddered at the thought and refilled his glass, for once glad that he hadn't gotten his way.

When he'd downed the fiery beverage, he was left looking through the bottom of the crystal glass at the date of the following Saturday. He had no reason to accept Potter's invitation and a hundred reasons to decline.

Draco set the glass on his desk and refilled it. He wasn't sure they could ever be mates; Draco didn't like Harry's friends, Harry didn't like Draco's friends. They had been in different houses, had different interests, probably liked different books—if Harry even liked books. They had little in common. Obviously, there was Quidditch, which was all Draco could think of off the top of his head.

Then something jarring occurred to him. They did have something in common, perhaps the most significant thing he, Potter, or anyone in their lifetime had been through: they had survived a war. They both stood on one side of a line and said that everyone else should come to their side. Only thing was— there was more than one line . Draco didn't think Harry had understood that. Maybe he did, finally, and that was why he'd invited Draco for Quidditch. Potter found that he could cross a line and not step into the unknown void that is the Dark Side.

Draco chuckled and absently rubbed his arm where his skin remained marred from the Dark Mark. If only Harry knew … Draco polished his third drink off and reached again for his quill. This time he managed to remove it from the holder before he had second thoughts.

He would be purposely setting himself up for an afternoon of Quidditch (a good thing) with a brood of Gryffindors (bad thing) most of which were probably Weasleys (ugly things). What was more, he'd just remembered that Potter had mentioned Molly's cooking at the "Burrow" afterwards. He had not only been invited for the game, but for dinner as well. He'd be asked to sit around the fire and swap stories about happy childhood memories.

The thought nearly sent him to a fourth drink when he realized he could simply not stay for dinner. All that would be required was to switch his plans with Pansy from lunch to dinner, and suddenly he had prior arrangements.

Still, could he make it through an entire afternoon with Potter and Weasley? With their friendliness, and easy smiles? He didn't think so.

The fact remained, however, that Harry Potter had extended an offer to him of camaraderie, and in his present situation he would be a fool to turn his back on it. Draco had learned through running his family's business that if an opportunity presented itself, no matter how small it appeared, it should be taken. Being on good terms with the wizarding world's favorite wizard could never be a bad thing.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Draco scribbled "Quidditch" across the entire block for Saturday, next.

**ooo**

Draco was used to working late, and he had a few things to prepare before handing the business back to his father. The ledgers needed to be updated, reports on changes in the company over the past seven years needed scanning, and the appropriate papers for returning control over an estate needed to be signed. Usually, an estate remained in one name until that person's death, but the occasional exception had to be made in cases like Draco's, where the father is unable to fulfill his duties. When that status changed, it took a great deal of bureaucracy and no small amount of magic to return things to their natural order.

He'd taken dinner in the office and was still finishing his plate of fruit when Chippy appeared, the sound making him jump in his seat.

"I is sorry, Master Draco," he squeaked, hopping on his tiny legs.

"That's … all right. What is it?"

"Master Lucius is on his way to see you, sir."

Draco nodded and the elf disappeared. He attempted to straighten the papers scattered across his desk, but after only a few seconds, there was a sharp rap on the door before Lucius entered.

He looked much better than when he'd been let out of prison. His hair was washed, and he'd put on a set of black robes. They hung more loosely on him than Draco remembered, but he looked like Lucius Malfoy.

"Father," Draco said, rising from his seat.

"No, sit," Lucius replied, entering the room and taking a seat opposite Draco. He glanced at the desk and then at the room. "It looks as though I left it yesterday."

"I saw no need to change anything significantly," Draco responded. Since moving into the office, he'd only added a few personal books to the shelves and a picture of his parents to the desk.

Lucius sat silently watching his son and then said, "This is unexpected, sitting like this."

"It is. I never would have imagined it." Draco gave his father the best smile he could muster. Echoes of their last conversation bounced off the corners of his mind, mixing with each other, resulting in white noise.

"The last time we spoke," Lucius began, repositioning himself in the chair and propping one leg on the other knee, "was … unpleasant. I have replayed that conversation in my head for seven years and thought of all the ways I would have done things differently."

"The past is forever unchanging, Father," Draco said. "Let's just leave it there."

Their eyes met and for a few brief moments, Draco truly believed all could be forgotten.

"As you wish," replied Lucius.

Draco nodded and began gathering the papers into a stack. The low fire flickering in the hearth, the cool that had seeped into his bones from the window behind the desk reminded him that the hour was late. "There are quite a few things to take care of, but it shouldn't take more than an hour. Would you prefer we do this in the morning?"

Lucius regarded his son, then the stack of papers, his gaze finally settling on the signet ring on Draco's hand.

Draco saw where his father's attention rested, and promptly removed the ring, holding it out to give to his father. "It's all yours."

Lucius stared at the ring for a long moment. It was more than simply handing a piece of jewelry from one person to another. The giving of a signet ring meant the passage of the title of Patriarch, the head of a pureblooded household. Draco had held the position for seven years and was eager to relinquish it. Once the ring was where it belonged once more, he could share everything with his father.

The recipient of the ring would then be entitled to all the secrets of the family, all the passwords, keys, and important documents. Even though Lucius had once worn the ring, too much time had passed to allow Draco to speak with him about these hidden matters. Once he turned over the ring, they would have a window of opportunity in which Draco could reveal things to his father, they could discuss them, figure them out … Figure out what to do next.

Lucius reached a hand up and nearly took the ring, hesitating in the same way Draco had hours earlier with his quill. "Actually, Son, I was hoping to speak to you about this."

_No, no, no!_ Draco's mind screamed at him. It was so close! He needed to share this secret, to get it off his shoulders. He needed his father's help to deal with it, and what was more, he didn't want Lucius to find out from anybody else. In the form of an anonymous letter, perhaps …

"Speak about what?" Draco asked, keeping his arm fully extended over the desk.

Lucius retracted his hand. "I have given this a lot of thought. I have spent months contemplating what I would do upon my release. You have handled things exceptionally well during my absence, as your mother tells me. I am confident that you will continue to do so."

Draco's heart sank, and he finally let his arm rest, setting the ring on the edge of the desk. Never in his wildest ideates did he think his father would refuse to resume his post as head of the house. "Continue, Father?"

"For another two months. I wish to take your mother on an extended vacation. Surely, such a desire is understandable."

Draco nodded numbly, his blood cooling slightly at hearing 'two months.'

"Then you'll carry on, as you have been, and we'll take care of all this when I return."

"Two months," Draco repeated, eyeing his father warily. "Just two? Why do I feel like you'll run off and never come back?"

Lucius laughed, and the sound, which had once filled Draco with immeasurable pride, now sounded slightly hollow, as though a balloon had lost some of its air. "Don't be insensible. Of course I will be returning." He stopped laughing and looked at his son, his eyes full of pride. "You've done well, Draco. You are a good son. I know this … burden has kept you from many things. I ask that you do me one more favor and then you will be free."

"Until the time comes for me to take over again," Draco said glumly, his tone sounding more disdainful than he'd intended. He'd waited his entire lifetime to hear the words his father had just spoken, but his circumstances, specifically one, that bound him more tightly than any shackles ever could, refused to allow him to rejoice.

"Then take your time." Lucius stood. "Spend as many years as you wish being young. Enjoy it. You have certainly earned it."

Draco rose gracefully from his chair and then lifted the signet ring from the desk, sliding it onto his finger once more. It was probably only his imagination, the knowledge of what his continued duties meant for his family, but the ring felt heavier than it had when he'd taken it off. "Of course, Father." He forced a smile. "What's two more months, after all?"

Lucius nodded. "Indeed. We'll be leaving first thing day after tomorrow, as soon as all the arrangements can be made and the elves can get us packed. Will you need anything while we're away?"

"No, I can manage. I've been alone a number of times when mother went on shopping trips to Paris or Milan with friends." Shopping trips that had him working nearly eighty hours a week for months to afford, scrounging to save every spare Knut he could. She always said he worked too much, that he should have more fun in his life. He never begrudged her innocence; he would never tell her the truth about their state. He would rather work with his bare hands until they were bloodied than tell her the truth.

"Good." Lucius smiled, and for the first time in his life, it spread all the way to his eyes. "See you at breakfast in the morning. Your mother has ordered something special to be prepared."

"Sounds wonderful."

Lucius turned to go, then paused with one hand on the door. Slowly, he turned around, his piercing gaze looking at Draco curiously. "Son, is there anything you wanted to tell me?"

"No," he answered, perhaps a little too quickly.

Lucius lingered, glancing around the office again, as though hoping for a clue as to the truthfulness of his son's hasty response. "If you're sure … Your mother also wanted me to inform you that we will likely be having guests tomorrow night for dinner. She wants you in attendance."

"Of course." Guests meant ex-Death Eaters, many who had managed to elude capture and blame after the war. There weren't many, but they all held Lucius in very high esteem, despite Potter's claims about his family's 'good deeds.'

"There was something I wanted to ask," Draco said, when Lucius reached again for the knob.

"The box?"

"Yes. What was it? Why did Potter have it, and not me?"

Lucius sighed. "It is my fervent desire to explain everything to you one day."

"Not today," said Draco, unable to help feeling a little bitter.

"No. I hope soon."

Draco nodded and Lucius left. Once the door had closed behind him, Draco slumped back into his desk chair. He gripped his hair and pulled until it hurt, then refilled and promptly emptied his glass. He was about to refill it again when the calendar caught his eye, one square somehow peeking out through all the papers on the desk. Saturday, next. bQuidditch./b How could he possibly consider going now, after learning that he would still be responsible for the business? He often met with professional associates on the weekends, for outings, meals, at parties. True, he hadn't scheduled anything else for that day except lunch with Pansy, so he wouldn't have to cancel any plans.

He decided to leave it to the fates. "Chippy!" he called.

The house-elf appeared in the middle of the room, his hands still folding the napkin it had been before Draco had summoned him. "Yes, Master, sir?"

"My broom. I require it."

The elf's eyes widened. "Master says not to give it up."

"And now Master wants it. Bring it to me at once."

Obviously torn between two opposing commands, the elf wavered, not wanting to upset Draco, or to fail whatever test he was being given.

Draco sighed. "I've got a … game next week. If you don't bring me the broom, I shall be forced to buy another."

Chippy nodded quickly and disappeared, confirming Draco's suspicions that on occasion, he got so drunk that he shared his deepest secrets with the only creatures available to listen. In fact, he made it a point never to become so inebriated in the company of others, in case he did open his mouth and speak too frankly. Now he was glad for his personal rule and waited patiently.

Chippy returned after a few minutes and, hesitant once more, waited before presenting the broom. "Here you is, Master. Just as you asked."

Draco took the broom and dismissed the elf, thrilling at the feel of the wood in his hands. He admired the broom, the way it hummed, as though excited at being held by its owner once more, at the prospect of flying again. It looked freshly polished, as though someone had taken excellent care of it and not neglected in the back of a broom closet.

He was grateful to the elf for keeping the broom in good condition and considered rewarding him, though that task had proved difficult over the years. House elves liked their work and got embarrassed when thanked for it. Why should they receive praise for doing what they were supposed to do? Draco had attempted a few times to leave sweets, only to find them on a tray beside his bed the next morning with a hot cup of tea. However, Draco had never asked the elf to polish his broom, to tend to the twigs, and keep the moving parts oiled. He would think of something.

With a sigh, Draco placed the broom in the corner of the room and attempted to make sense of the mess on his desk. He sorted all the papers into three piles: for Lucius to read, for Lucius to sign (brightly colored magical arrows pointed to each place the signature was required) and papers to file. Grudgingly, Draco magically wrapped each stack of papers and spun the chair to his right, where his filing cabinet sat.

He pressed his finger to the top left corner and waited until the top drawer opened. Inside was a single red folder with no label. Draco placed all three stacks of paper into the folder and said, "Lucius, turnover papers, 13 August." Draco's words appeared on the folder's tab and Draco tapped the folder with his wand. It disappeared, to be replaced with another empty red folder. Draco closed the cabinet, finished clearing the desk, and straightened the office.

The long-awaited day had arrived and was now waning. He was relieved that soon it would all be over, but worried that somehow his father would find out before he could tell him. Draco grabbed a worn book from his space on the bookshelf, turned out the lights, and headed for bed.

Three hours later, he still lay in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. His book was finished and sat on his night stand beside an empty water glass, a small journal, and an Ever-Ink quill. He had imaged in his mind the wonderful, relieved sleep he would experience after his father's release so much that now he feared it would never come. However, his father was home, safely tucked into bed next to his wife. They would go on their much needed holiday, and when they returned, all would be set right. The full relief Draco had anticipated would not be possible until then.

Determined to sleep, Draco called for the house-elf and requested a Dreamless Draught from his personal stores. The elf complied, and within five minutes of taking the prescribed dose, he fell into a deep slumber.

**ooo**

**A/N:** Welcome to my newest story! It's going to be a long one [I've got 29.75 chapters written so far], so I hope you'll join me for this adventure. I'm going to have a long-ish list of thanks right here, but in future chapters, they'll be kept to a minimum.

**Beta thanks:** I've become accustomed to having a few people look over my stories. One reason is that betas are busy people too, and sometimes they can't all look at the story/chapter/whatever. Another reason is that I've learned that the more I do this, the more I realize I have to learn about writing. I miss things, betas miss things, FanFiction smooshes words together—no published or posted story is ever perfect, but that doesn't mean I can't try! :)

That said, unending thanks to the best betas around: drcjsnider, manda, pokeystar, & zoe.

**Title credit:** The title of this story was adapted from a play by William Shakespeare. In Henry IV, Part II, Act III, Scene I, the King laments the way sleep has eluded him.

_Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose  
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude,  
And in the calmest and most stillest night,  
With all appliances and means to boot,  
Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down!  
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown._

I never would have thought of this most excellent and deserving title were it not for my dear friend manda, who loves this story almost as much as I do. She's been there from the very beginning, through brainstorming, frustration, blood, sweat, tears, and most importantly, countless google image searches. For you-know-what.

**Other Notes:** Each chapter in this story has been or will be illustrated by a fabulous Dramione (or otherwise!) artist. Since you can't see images on this site, go to my profile page each week after the chapter is posted to find links to the artwork for the week.

The same goes for music. My good friend inadaze22 is putting together a playlist for each chapter, and I owe her BIG TIME. Maybe I'll get around to betaing that chapter she sent me in, oh, August. You'll be able to find links to the music on my profile page as well.

As with "We Learned the Sea", this story will be updated AT LEAST every Friday. So there's no need to encourage me to update; I will.

I truly hope you enjoy this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.


	2. Comfortably Numb

**Chapter 2**** - - - Comfortably Numb**

At breakfast the following morning, Draco sighed as he took his usual seat at the head of the ten-person table. Narcissa sat opposite him at the other end of the table, and Lucius beside her. Before Lucius's imprisonment, he would read the Prophet during breakfast, barely speak a word to anyone. This morning, he seemed to want to know about everything that had happened during his absence.

After he had heard a full report of the grounds of Malfoy Manor from Narcissa, as well as a basic run-down on the wellbeing of their friends, Lucius turned to Draco and asked the question that had most likely been on his mind since—and probably before—his release.

"Have you been seeing anyone, Son?"

Draco tensed and readied himself for at the very least a verbal dispute. Hadn't they agreed just the night before to leave this subject in the past? However, when Draco looked at his father, he saw nothing more than curiosity in his eyes as he continued eating his kippers. There wasn't even a hint of the stern, harsh demands Lucius had made all those years ago.

Narcissa smiled at him then squeezed Lucius's arm.

"Not seriously," he replied tentatively.

"Are you seeing anyone at the present?" He took another bite. Still Draco could detect no malice in his words.

"No. I've been rather busy with the business. There's very little free time for socializing."

Lucius chuckled. "I spent many years running the company, Son. I _know_ there is plenty of time for socializing."

"Things have been difficult since the end of the war, Father. There have been quite a few changes within the structure of the company … I look forward to discussing everything with you when you return. Have you decided where you'll be going?"

"Oh, just about!" said Narcissa excitedly. "We will start in Italy, along the Riviera, and then travel to Spain. Every year they have a large market where witches and wizards come from all over the world to display their goods. The wizarding district of Madrid has to be expanded to nearly ten times its usual size to accommodate them all, but it's such a wonderful time."

"After Spain," continued Lucius, "we'll head to Paris. You know how your mother loves the Champs Elysées, and of course the Place de Magique."

Draco clenched his jaw but otherwise gave no indication of his inner thoughts. The trip would be expensive enough, and he had expected that his mother would make at least one shopping stop, but Paris likely meant a week of shopping. How his father spent a week going through shops, watching Narcissa try on clothes, giving useful feedback, was beyond him. And what a week! He was getting a headache already thinking about how much it would cost him, and not just in Galleons. At least he could find consolation in the fact that his father was no longer in prison.

"Sounds grand. What comes next?" he managed, and then took another bite of his meal.

Narcissa launched into a detailed account of which shops she longed to revisit, friends she looked forward to seeing again. One thing Draco knew was that in Paris, his mother wasn't just the wife of a Death Eater. In fashionable Paris, such things barely registered. What mattered was the brand of her handbag, or the name on the soles of her shoes. She loved to escape into that world and was able to through most of the war, until the Dark Lord moved into her home. This would be her first trip to Paris with her husband since Voldemort's defeat, and she was looking forward to it very much.

At some point, Lucius interrupted and indicated that they weren't exactly sure where they would go next, but that they would let him know by letter once they'd decided.

Lucius and Narcissa continued talking about their trip, but something was tapping at the door of Draco's mind, begging for attention. The wisps of idea began to coalesce, finally forming a solid thought.

"Father," he said, interrupting his mother mid-sentence.

Lucius turned to him, a stern expression on his face. "Draco, surely by this age you've learned that it is extremely rude to interrupt."

"Yes, of course, it was an accident," he said flatly, still staring at his father intently.

"What did you feel was so important that it couldn't wait?" Lucius asked with a sigh, leaning back in his chair.

"We're having guests for dinner tonight, right?"

His parents nodded.

"It occurred to me that, on the day following your release from prison for your crimes as a Death Eater, it might not be such a great idea to invite your old chums to your home."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a glance. "Thank you for your concern, Draco," began Lucius, his tone patronizing. "These people were friends of ours first and foremost. Surely you would not have us abandon them, just so things appear more acceptable to the Ministry."

Heat rose into his cheeks. "No, of course not."

"It's just a small dinner party, to welcome your father home," said Narcissa kindly.

Draco was quiet for the remainder of breakfast, nodding occasionally, making the sporadic comment when appropriate, but his mind was still churning over business matters. Specifically, the ledgers in his office, which would finally be clear and safe; no more worrying over every little Knut, no more stress when Narcissa went shopping. He just hoped everything would balance to give his parents a worry-free holiday.

**ooo**

At promptly quarter of seven, the dinner guests began arriving. In the upper echelon of wizarding society, it was proper to arrive forty-five minutes prior to the time printed on the invitation and to bring a gift for the host. The forty-five minutes provided time for the Master of the house to greet all of his guests in a relaxed, leisurely manner.

In the Receiving Room, while stealthy house-elves served drinks and hors d'oeuvres, Lucius and Narcissa stood together, greeting guests upon their arrival.

Draco had held that role during the few small dinner parties his mother had given while his father was in prison. Now that his father was out of prison, he took up a secondary role, glad to be somewhat out of the spotlight, greeting each person who walked in after his parents had done so.

The Notts were the first to arrive. Theo's father, Bradford, had been a Death Eater, had fought against Potter and his friends at the Ministry of Magic, and after the war, had been sentenced to life in prison. Mrs. Athena Nott, goddess of beauty she was not, and Theodore, were questioned but never charged with wrong-doing. Mrs. Nott enjoyed gardening, Mah Jong, and sleeping with her gardener, a tall, dark Italian who spoke very little English. She had him hired shortly after her husband's sentence was announced.

Theodore shook Draco's hand and gave him a strained smile. "Good to see you, mate," he said.

"Likewise. How is business?"

Theodore was in a position very similar to the one Draco had been in until the day before. His father was in Azkaban, and would be there for the rest of his life, unless something happened to spur his release. The Notts owned an antique shop that had been in existence in the wizarding world for over 300 years. Before his imprisonment, Bradford and Athena had traveled the world seeking items to sell, while Theo's oldest brother, Robert, and older sister Amelia, ran the shop. Now, Athena and Amelia went in search of wares, while Theo ran the shop exclusively given the imprisonment of his father and the death of his brother during the war.

"Good, good," he replied, his eyes betraying his boredom with his current lot. Draco knew he would rather be treasure hunting himself, or cultivating his talents in Transfiguration. "We just got a piece in that I think you would like to see, actually. It's an old clock from the 15th century. The face is made of stained glass and the hands have gems at the end."

"It sounds amazing, I'll try to drop by this week."

"Bring your mum, she'll like some of the new platters we've got as well."

"My parents are going on holiday tomorrow, so she won't be able to join me. But I want to see that clock, and perhaps any new books you've got in."

Following the Notts were Rodolphus and Rabastan Lastrange. They'd managed to avoid capture following the last battle, and had spent the last seven years in hiding. They'd had their fill of Azkaban and were willing to do anything to stay out. Still, they were quite accessible by owl post, and never missed an invitation for a free meal. This night was no exception.

Draco hated when they visited, but Narcissa had insisted.

"They're family," she had said on the first occasion, just six months after the end of the war. "If it were possible, they could stay here, but with the frequent and random Ministry searches, that's simply impossible."

Draco had been amazed; he'd never thought he would ever be grateful to the Ministry for anything.

Draco's uncles by marriage behaved as they did on every prior visit. Rodolphus was morose and eternally downtrodden as he was greeted by Lucius and Narcissa. When they inquired about his well-being, he scoffed and muttered under his breath. He didn't linger for the usual exchange of pleasantries, and barely looked at Draco when he shook his hand.

"Evening, Uncle," Draco said stiffly.

Again Rodolphus muttered, then headed straight for the liquor table and downed two glasses of bourbon. Narcissa had explained to Draco that Rodolphus had once been a charming and handsome man, but that the death of his beloved wife had broken his heart, leaving him shattered.

It was a family adage he had heard many times, irrevocably overused and rarely true. Draco knew it, Narcissa knew he knew it, but why she felt she had to use it with him, he never understood. Perhaps to honor the memory of her sister, whom she would never see as anyone but the girl she'd had tea parties with as a child.

Rabastan, who had always been slightly eccentric, had gone nearly mad in the last war. He always seemed to be teetering on the edge, sometimes so literally that Draco felt he was constantly swaying whenever they conversed to avoid his Uncle falling over on him. Rabastan continually wrung his hands and never stood where he didn't have a clear shot at the nearest exit. He could be charming, but his gaunt face, stringy, unkempt hair and missing teeth tended to make people uneasy around him. Draco included himself in that group.

"Evenin', Draco, lad," he said, taking Draco's hand and shaking it forcibly.

"Uncle, thank you for coming."

Rabastan clapped him on the back with surprising force for such a thin man and his left eyes twitched rapidly for a moment, giving the appearance that he was winking. "Enough of that tripe. How ya been? Things keeping in shape for ya, my boy?"

Another side effect of Rabastan's near-insanity was that on occasion, he was difficult to understand. Draco simply did his best to answer the question he thought he had been asked.

"Things are quite well for me, thank you."

"Good to hear it. Any pretty lasses running around here for ya?" He glanced around the room, his head jerking erratically, as though expecting one or two to pop out from behind the sofas or the drapes.

Draco ground his teeth, then said, "No, afraid not."

Again, Rabastan clapped him painfully on the back. "Ah, well, find yaself a couple—nay, a few—and alternate. They seem happier that way."

Draco could only nod and wish with all his might that his Uncle would move along and join Rodolphus, who was able to hold his glass steady now that he'd had a few drinks. They both gave Draco the creeps; he had met them for the first time when his Aunt Bellatrix brought them with her to speak to Narcissa over the summer following his fifth year. He hadn't cared for them then, and even less now.

Rodolphus had a very sinister, slightly crazed look in his eyes before Bellatrix's death that had frightened Draco considerably. After Bellatrix died, an empty, haunted look rode the derangement in his eyes.

Trailing in after the Lestrange brothers was the Goyle family. Gregory Goyle was probably the one person from his house at Hogwarts with whom Draco was still on decent terms. It hadn't always been that way. After the death of their friend, Crabbe, they didn't speak for three years. Then one night, Greg knocked on Draco's door and said he had to talk, had to, before he went insane.

Draco had fixed him a shot of whisky and offered him a seat in the parlor. Greg had spilled his heart out that night, saying how stupid he'd been as a kid and how his life was in shambles because of it. He couldn't hold a job and most places didn't want to hire him in the first place. Money was always coming up short and he had borrowed so much he didn't think he would ever be able to get out from under it. Unlike most of the pureblooded families, the Goyles weren't rich. They had connections, which kept most of their friends happy, but money had always been tight.

Eventually, the subject turned to Crabbe, to the friend they'd both lost in the final battle.

"I saw myself when I looked at him that night, Draco. I could have been looking in a mirror. We were the same, nearly, he and I. I was just one or two steps from going over like he did. It scared me."

Draco could empathize; he'd been a few steps from going the other way, the right way, for a time during the war. He just couldn't work up the courage to do it. They talked long into the night and Draco had offered him a position with his company. Greg had accepted, and in the years since had settled nicely into a position he was good at with decent pay.

The rest of his family was just getting by. Greg's father, Joel, was charged with being a Death Eater, but was let off on a technicality. Still, he hadn't been able to return to his job and now worked at a bar in Knockturn Alley. Theresa, Greg's mother, was a co-owner of a Divination store off Diagon Alley that sold crystal balls, exotic teas, astrological paraphernalia and shawls, among other things. Her partner was Pansy Parkinson's mother, Hyacinth.

Draco's first genuine smile of the evening went to his friend. "Good to see you, Greg," he said, clasping hands with the other man.

"You too, Draco. Been a while, eh? Busy?"

"A bit, yes, getting things ready for my father's return."

"Oh, right. Wonder how Theo feels."

Draco nodded and glanced at the man in question, talking with his mother in the corner by the window and casting worried looks at Rabastan. Theo's father and Lucius had been contemporaries, imprisoned for the same crimes, yet Lucius served only seven years while Bradford would likely never see daylight again except through the tiny, square-foot window in his cell.

"Of course, your dad never spent a night in prison, just those during his trial."

"Best not to bring it up," added Greg.

"I'm sure he's thought about it plenty. Hopefully there will be no hard feelings. I can honestly say that I don't know why my father got such a short sentence, only that it has to do with Potter."

Greg chuckled. "Saw your picture in the Prophet this morning. Potter and you getting chummy, then?"

Draco scoffed. "What? No!"

"One of those reporters heard him invite you to Quidditch. You gonna go?"

"I … I don't—good evening, Mr. Goyle, Mrs. Goyle." Draco was momentarily saved from answering by the arrival of Greg's parents.

"How are you doing, Draco?" asked Joel with a smile.

"Just fine, and yourself?"

"The same, the same."

Theresa Goyle held onto Draco's hand a little too long for a casual handshake. Draco frowned slightly at her and she winked. He shuddered once they'd moved on.

Last to arrive, as usual, were Hyacinth and Pansy Parkinson. Pansy's father had been killed in the war and due to some careful maneuvering on Hyacinth's part, the Ministry wasn't able to touch a Knut of the Parkinson fortune. Following the trials, the Ministry had passed a law called the Death Eater Tax, which required all families with known Death Eaters relations to pay a one-time tax of one million Galleons, or a yearly tax of ten thousand, to cover reconstruction efforts. Very few families had been exempted; the Goyles because they didn't have the money to pay, and the Parkinsons because of Hyacinth's cunning.

Draco suspected she'd slept with enough people enough times to be given a special loophole out of it, though he doubted that he'd over know the truth.

After a few rather well-placed investments, the Parkinsons were soon one of the wealthiest families in wizarding England, third only to the Notts and the Malfoys. All Pansy and her mother did these days was shop, travel, and shop. He'd tried not to begrudge her the freedom she had, but sometimes, after very long, stressful days, he wasn't very good at hiding it.

Pansy said a hurried greeting to Draco's parents and then rushed to speak with him. He didn't like speaking with her in large, or even small, crowds, because she had a way about her that completely excluded everyone else in the room. She would speak very closely to him, turn her body in such a way that told others they weren't welcome.

"Hello, Pansy," he said, hoping her mother would be along soon.

"Draco!" she cried, throwing her arms around him and then kissing his cheek. "Merlin, I've missed you!"

He couldn't honestly say the same, since whenever they were together all she did was talk about her recent purchases and the men she met on her trips. They were friends because they had always been friends, and he didn't have the energy or the desire to fight her.

Somehow, Draco and his mother had come through the war with the cleanest records and best reputations. Narcissa, for her part in saving Potter's life, and Draco, for being too cowardly to admit that he recognized Potter, Weasley and Granger when they were brought into his home during the war. The way Potter had sold it to the Wizengamot, Draco and his mother had been put in terrible situations and had to make the best of them. Apparently, it had been enough to secure them 'second chances at life.'

Pansy knew that Draco, of all her acquaintances, had the best position in wizarding society, and wanted to be right there with him. When he had refused her attempts to seduce him, she had settled for friendship.

"You're looking lovely tonight, Pansy," he said, knowing it would spark a story about where she had purchased her robes and how the man in the shop had tried to feel her up while taking her measurements.

"Thank you. But," her voice dropped ten-fold and she leaned in the way she always did. "I heard that you're going to socialize with Potter. Tell me it's not true."

Draco glanced at his parents and saw to his dismay that they were still conversing with Mrs. Parkinson.

"He merely extended the invitation in a show of good will. For what reason, I have no idea."

"You're going then?" she said, crossing her arms and giving him a disapproving glare.

"I … yes. I'm going." Draco felt an odd sense of relief at his admission, even though he knew he wouldn't hear the end of it all night.

Her eyes widened and her mouth started twitching on the right side, at the apple of her cheek, the way it did when she was incensed. "How could you? It's Harry-bleeding-Potter!"

He thought quickly, a skill he had honed during his years of running a billion-Galleon company.

"Think, Pansy, what could I do? Tell the Golden Boy no?" That seemed to hit her, and her glare went from deadly to cold. "It's one morning of Quidditch, it won't ruin me. Speaking of which, I need to reschedule our lunch that day for dinner."

"Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes to slits.

"They asked me for lunch. Before you go off on a rant, understand that I don't want to go, but I'm doing this in the best interest of my family. That much I think you can understand."

Pansy was about to protest when Draco caught a whiff of strong perfume. Hyacinth was approaching. Pansy gave Draco one last glare and left him.

"Hyacinth, you're looking fabulous," Draco said, taking her proffered hand and kissing it.

She simpered. "Thank you. You've always had such great taste. Of course, I'm just her mother, so I'm not sure if I can be believed, but I do think Pansy is looking radiant this evening."

Hyacinth was always trying to convince Draco to marry her daughter. She made every attempt, took advantage of anything that remotely resembled an opportunity to make her wishes known. It was obvious the woman didn't care about her daughter marrying for love.

"She is, yes. Quite beautiful. Is she wearing a new pair of shoes?"

Mrs. Parkinson took the bait and began to tell the story of how Pansy acquired her shoes, complete with the man helping her nearly begging for her hand by the end of the fitting. Draco could have told the story himself, he'd heard a similar one told many times.

Fortunately, the Parkinsons were the last of the guests to arrive, and soon Lucius announced that everyone should move to the dining room.

The meal was as pleasant as it could be. Rodolphus glared at his plate the entire time, though he ate his fill and then some. Rabastan seemed to make it his mission to entertain the crowd, while at the same time eating as much as he possibly could, despite Narcissa's assurances that he needn't worry; he could take something with him when he left.

Theo and Greg were seated together, and so they talked nearly exclusively throughout. Draco, through what had to have been his mother's involvement, was seated beside Pansy. Narcissa wanted Draco to settle down, and Pansy was the only witch she really knew that was her son's age. Though, unlike Pansy's mother, Narcissa wanted her son to be happy. She hadn't risked her life during the war so he could end up in a loveless marriage. Why she thought he could be happy beside Pansy, he would never understand.

The general conversation at the table was politics. The men, especially, seemed keen on getting Lucius caught up on the goings on in the wizarding world. They discussed the latest blunders of the Minister, the ridiculous laws that had been passed, and took jabs at the notion of 'tolerance' that the Minister was touting. Draco thought they might get into a bit of Muggle hating, or at the least tell a joke or two at the expense of a Muggleborn.

He was relieved when pudding began and not a single prejudiced word had been uttered, but he was suspicious also. True, the Ministry had cracked down on intolerance the best way it could, by punishing those who blatantly discriminated, but people's minds were made long before the Dark Lord came on the scene. The group of people with whom Draco dined had never before hesitated to make jokes about Mudbloods, half-bloods, half-breeds and blood-traitors. The total absence was so stark that he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else going on.

Following the meal, Lucius and the men went into the smoking room, while Narcissa took the women into the parlor for gossip and wine.

Lucius stood tall and proud, speaking jovially with his friends about trivial matters. He had handed out cigars and Draco had to covertly cast a Filtering Spell on his nose; he had never enjoyed smoking or the resultant smell that followed him when he was around people who did. For the most part he stayed quiet, his mind elsewhere, while the other men talked. Greg and Theo stood nearby, talking about women.

"What do you think, mate?" Theo asked Draco, dragging him out of his thoughts.

"Think about what?"

"Once your parents are gone, throwing a party here, just us! We can invite all the old crowd, even those we don't speak to so much anymore. What do you say?" said Greg.

"I've heard Daphne Greengrass had some sort of … Muggle enhancement. Supposed to be better than the magical version, look and feel more real," Theo added, winking at Draco.

"A party? Here?"

"Yeah, you'll host it, we'll all eat and dance and get wasted, then fall into bed with whoever in one of the dozens of bedrooms you've got here …"

"As delightful as that sounds," Draco said impatiently. "I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it."

"Psst! Draco!"

The three young men looked toward the sound of the distinctly feminine voice and saw Pansy peeking in through the door.

"What?" he asked, going closer.

"Come out here!" she demanded.

He rolled his eyes. "No."

Greg came to stand at Draco's elbow. "Hi, Pansy," he said.

"Hi," she replied, barely glancing in Greg's direction. "Draco, please?"

"Why?"

"Just—"

Pansy reached inside, grabbed his arm, and pulled him through the door. He was so surprised that he didn't resist.

"—Come. There," she said, once the door was closed behind them. "that's better."

"What do you want?" Draco asked crossly, wishing he'd been holding a glass of whisky so he could finish it off.

"I was wondering if you've thought any more about my … proposal."

"Merlin, Pansy!" he said, staring at her incredulously. "You had to ask right now? It couldn't wait?"

"No," she said defiantly, jutting her chin out. "I was bored to tears in there. I couldn't care less about Armando, the garden boy, or who shagged whom last weekend. I needed out of there for some air and thought of you."

"How delightful," he muttered. "We aren't supposed to … intermingle during this phase of the evening. Men in one room, women in another."

"Better that they get used to the idea, right?" She smiled and put a hand on his cheek.

It was cold and clammy and he flinched away from her touch. How could he even consider what she'd offered if he hated when she touched him? She was trying to be alluring, he knew, but he wanted to get away from her. Gently but firmly, he removed her hand from his face.

"I'm still … considering it," he said tersely. "If, and it is a very strong **if**, I agree, you must understand what it will mean. I do not love you, I am not attracted to you. You may touch me only when I tell you to touch me. Is that clear?"

She rolled her eyes and pulled a cigarette out of her purse, one of those thin, dainty sticks. "You say that now, Draco. Just wait until I've got my hands all over you; you'll be begging for more."

He snatched the lighter from her hands and threw it behind him as hard as he could. "You may not smoke in my house!" he said angrily, fearful pride getting the best of him. He got right in her face. "I will never beg for anything, not so much as a Knut, if I had nothing and needed it to buy my next loaf of bread."

She laughed uncomfortably. "You never know, Draco."

He backed away and straightened his robes. "That much I know. Don't ask me again about your offer. I will come to you."

Pansy shrugged. "I'll be waiting. Just remember, there aren't many of us left, and I'm just about the only one who's willing to put up with your … colorful side." She smirked and headed back toward the parlor.

By 'us,' she meant pureblooded witches his age, and she was right. Most of them had married or moved away, and the few remaining were all undesirable for one reason or another. Pansy was different, though; she had money, she was unquestionably pretty, and she was well-mannered. Draco had heard rumors of many men courting her, but she always turned them down.

One month before, she had sent him a formal proposal, drafted by her lawyer and notarized by the Minister himself. In it, she offered herself to him. In addition, he would take control over the Parkinson estate, by far the most appealing part of the proposition. As it was, he would have to wait until he received another message before he could make that decision.

If his circumstances were different, he would have rejected her immediately. They were friends because they had grown up together, had been through many 'firsts' and milestones. They tolerated each other for the most part, but whenever Pansy got it in her head that they would be perfect for each other, Draco had no patience whatsoever for her—like now. The smallest things she did annoyed him immensely, and he'd long concluded that it was his attempt to rid Pansy of her daydreams. He cared about her very much, but it was strictly as a friend.

Draco silently fumed as she walked away, and then forced his blood to slow so that he wouldn't appear out of sorts when he returned to the smoking room.

All the men were huddled together near the fireplace, the smoke so thick it was hard to make out their features. They were speaking in low tones when Draco entered the room. Theo motioned for him to join them.

"Lucius, it's got to be you," said Rodolphus as Draco came near enough to hear.

He was surprised to hear not only his Uncle's harsh, ragged voice, but the passion behind it. Draco saw fire in his eyes and it sent a chill down his spine.

"Yes, Lucius," said Rabastan silkily. "Only ya can carry us. With yar … resourcefulness, ingenuity, and charisma, it'd only be a matter of time before we were once again a force."

Dread filled every space inside of Draco as the gist of his Uncles' pleas registered. They wanted to start up the Death Eaters again, and wanted Lucius as their leader. Draco glanced at his friends. Greg looked nearly sick, but Theo looked ready to join up. Greg's father, too, had a hungry glint in his eyes.

Not wanting to look at his father, but needing to see what his reaction was, Draco slowly dragged his gaze to the man who had only the day before returned to his life. To his surprise, Lucius was looking at him, his eyes swirling with emotion. Draco sent his father silent pleas to stop this, end this discussion now and run away.

Lucius frowned, then looked away.

In his mind, Draco saw everything that he'd worked for in the past seven years go to waste. All of his efforts to bring credibility to the Malfoy name once more: the donations – though grossly inadequate, allowing the Ministry uninhibited access to the Manor and their financial records, and publicly destroying the dungeons beneath the Manor were just a few of the things Draco had done for his family, for his father. If Lucius agreed to this wild scheme, Draco didn't think he could bear it. He would leave, he decided the instant his father had frowned. He didn't care how much it would cost him; he couldn't go through more darkness, he wouldn't live in the shadow of war.

"Think, Lucius!" continued Rabastan, eagerly. "It'll be like the World Cup eleven years ago. I wasn't there, but I heard about it. Terrorizing Muggles, and Mudblood filth—"

"This Minister is a disgrace to magic," spat Rodolphus. "Mudbloods should be rounded up and given what they deserve. Make them beg, make them wish they'd never heard of magic! What's to stop us?"

Lucius sighed. "If the Ministry didn't have every single one of us on a list, watching our every move, then perhaps it might be possible, however unwise."

Draco exhaled in relief and Greg looked at him, his eyes clouded with fear.

"While your idea is intriguing, gentlemen, I must postpone my decision. I'm leaving with my wife on holiday tomorrow. When I return, we can continue this discussion."

Now Draco's heart fell into his stomach. Lucius hadn't said 'no,' just 'later.'

"I believe it's time to join the women," said Lucius, finishing his glass of brandy. "Remember, not a word leaves this room."

The other agreed and followed Lucius from the room. Once they were gone, Draco sank heavily into an armchair. Greg sat opposite him.

"They're serious, aren't they?" he asked Draco, his brow furrowed.

"Sounds like it. Should've known," he muttered darkly. "Why must they insist on this course? Why not just …" His frustration was mounting the more he thought about what his father's friends wanted. "I'm not saying I'm all for this tolerance rubbish, but why can't we simply … endure them? We ignore them, they go about their lives … No one is requiring us to be friends with Muggles or Muggleborns! Let's just leave them be! Look where intolerance got them last time!"

Greg ran a hand through his hair, his dark brown locks falling around his face. "All I know is, I want nothing to do with it. I got my thrills once, and never again."

Draco nodded miserably. "I'll try to talk some sense into my father, but honestly, if his attitude is unchanged, then there's no point. I thought, after he shook hands with Weasley yesterday, that it meant something."

A few moments passed, and then Greg said, "I guess we'd better get going, eh?"

"Reckon so," said Draco. He sighed and stood, feeling older than his twenty-five years.

"What did Pansy want?" Greg asked hesitantly once they were in the hall.

Draco shrugged. "Nagging, as usual." He stopped walking and turned to look at his friend. "Why?"

Greg avoided Draco's eyes. "No reason."

He tried to keep walking but Draco put a hand on his chest. "No, not true … Greg, mate. Tell me. Does she owe you money? Do you owe _her_ money? I'll lend you whatever—"

"N-no, it's nothing like that." Greg's shoulders slumped. "I don't reckon it was anything to do with me, then."

"Oh. Oh, bugger, Greg. You fancy her. How long has this been going on?"

"I dunno … Year or so."

"It's nothing, right? Just fancy a shag?" Draco needed to know the depth of his friend's feelings.

"No! Of course not!" Greg said, anger flashing through his eyes.

"You love her?"

Again Greg looked away and shrugged.

Draco shut his eyes and clenched his fists. Here was another reason to reject Pansy's offer. Would Greg ever forgive him if he married the woman he loved, especially since Greg knew that Draco didn't love her one whit? He didn't want to marry her, but he was hesitant to reject her entirely. Draco was in a tight spot and he knew it.

"Bollocks," Draco cursed, shoving his hands in his pockets and walked toward the room where everyone was now gathered.

"What?" Greg asked, hurrying to follow.

Draco stopped suddenly. "Look, mate. Pansy … she's not right for you. She's spoiled and petty, and you could do so much better. Besides, when do you even see her?"

"Every time she comes down to the office to meet with the Manager," Greg replied, his eyes telling Draco once and for all that he was crazy about the witch and nothing Draco could say would sway him.

"Bloody fantastic," Draco muttered. He forced his negative thoughts aside for the moment. Greg was a good man, the best Draco knew. If anyone would be good for Pansy, it was him. Draco just wasn't sure he could say that the opposite was true, that Pansy was the best woman for him. He sighed. "I'm glad you told me, Greg. Really. Let's go on, shall we?"

As soon as Draco and Greg entered the parlor, Pansy attached herself to Draco's side, dismissing Greg with a tiny wave. It made Draco angry, so he left Pansy and went to speak with his mother. He saw Greg approach Pansy, and they spoke for a few minutes before Pansy moved away. Greg's disappointed face further rankled Draco.

He hadn't been in the room ten minutes before he felt like he would suffocate. Pansy, Hyacinth, and Athena wouldn't give him a moment's peace, he couldn't catch his mother alone, he would never willingly engage his Uncles in conversation, Greg was staring at an oblivious Pansy, and Greg's father was monopolizing Lucius. Draco wanted to leave the gathering and retreat to his office where he could add the new wrinkle of his father's friends' ideas to his plans and mull over his options.

Instead, he was required to stay until the last guest left, which wasn't until after midnight. As soon as the flames in the Floo died after the Parkinsons left, Narcissa excused herself, leaving Draco and Lucius alone.

Draco knew he might not have another opportunity to speak to his father before his trip and despite the unpleasant conversation he knew would result, asked his father to remain for a few minutes.

Lucius agreed and sat on a sofa, perfectly at ease. Draco remained standing, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

"What's the matter, Son?" Lucius asked tiredly. "Did you enjoy the evening?"

"Not especially, but when have I ever?" Draco replied. "Father … I must ask you. The conversation in the smoking room. Do you … I mean, what are you intentions in that regard?"

"Ah," said Lucius, nodding. "The efforts to put the gang back together, so to speak. That worries you."

"Yes, it does. Father, you have the chance to start fresh. The Minister thinks well of you, and being seen with him and Potter could mean we have the opportunity to be what we once were. The Malfoy name has the chance to be respectable again. I've done everything I could to make it so over these years you were in prison, and … well, I would like it to stay that way."

Lucius propped one leg on the other and regarded his son. Then he chuckled. "In other words, you want me to stay out of trouble."

Draco grinded his teeth, but the good-natured look on Lucius's face told him the man was making a joke. Of all things.

"You have nothing to worry about, Draco," said Lucius. "I have no intention of returning to Azkaban."

"That's not nearly close to what I would have preferred you to say." Draco was still staring at his father with an intensity that would have made his underlings mess themselves, but Lucius remained unaffected.

"First of all, what I do with my time is none of your concern. Second—"

"It most certainly is my concern, Father. If you get locked up again, or worse, killed, then I will be responsible for all of this again. That concerns me greatly."

The older man stood to his full height and looked at his son, who stood two inches shorter than him. "Second," he said, the calm in his voice inadequately covering a much deeper emotion. "And I want you to understand me very clearly, Draco. I would never do anything to put you in danger."

The way his father's eyes looked, as if they could bore through solid steel, kept Draco from saying what went through his mind then. _My whole life I've been in danger because of you_.

"One must never agree or disagree to requests like your Uncle made in the situation in which we found ourselves: overfull on food and drink, surrounded by monstrous egos. Rodolphus and Rabastan have been twisted beyond the realm of reason. While they can be spoken to civilly, they cannot be helped to see that the circumstances require a different course of action. They will always be of the type who picks up his wand upon command and never asks questions."

"That I believe."

"That is why they want someone to give those commands. If enough people of like-mind get together, it may only be a matter of time before they act."

"I don't want to be in that group."

"You certainly do not have to, son."

"Nor do I want you to be."

"I have given your mother my word that I will put her and you first. I intend to keep my word."

Draco exhaled slowly, letting the words sink in. "You won't be leading a rogue band of Death Eaters in the sport of Muggle-torture."

Lucius smiled wryly. "No."

Draco's entire body relaxed and for the first time in a very long time, he truly felt like smiling.

**ooo**

**A/N**: Thank you so much for reading! Chapter title comes from a song of the same name by Pink Floyd. Don't forget to check out my profile page for links to the artwork and the music!

**Art Credit**: The amazing artwork in this chapter was again done by the fabulous melia_eothria.

**Beta Thanks**: Once again, a hundred thank-yous to manda, zoe, drcjsndier, and pokeystar.

**Music**: inadaze22 gets all the credit for the playlist!


	3. Such Great Heights

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 3 - - Such Great Hights**

**- - -**

Draco bid his parents goodbye first thing the following morning. They traveled by Floo to the International Apparation Point in Diagon Alley where transport was arranged to take them to Spain.

Draco stared into the fireplace after they'd gone, wishing his father would return and ease his burden. When his stomach rumbled, he dragged himself to the office where he ordered breakfast and grudgingly opened his calendar. He had made appointments for his father for the entire week designed to reacquaint Lucius with the people he had once interacted with, and to introduce him to the new partners Draco had cultivated in his absence. Most of the appointments he would keep, in order to inform everyone of the delay in handing over the reigns of the company. The extra workload made him scowl.

The week flew by, one appointment after another, and not a single letter arrived by way of a jet-black owl. Draco's spirits rose with each passing day, and when he sat down to look at his calendar Friday morning, was stunned to see that the following day was his Quidditch appointment with Harry Potter.

Draco had the urge to write Potter and ask him who would be in attendance, but he fought it, not wanting to seem too interested. Friday afternoon, a letter arrived attached to the leg of a snow-white owl that Draco recognized instantly. Potter had been on the front page of the Prophet buying his new owl, saying the new one could never replace the friend he had lost in the war, but he looked forward to getting to know his new familiar. Draco remembered it well; it had been the same issue that announced Lucius's sentence.

It was strange taking a letter from this bird, but he made sure to give her an extra treat. Herschel nuzzled Draco's hand in thanks before flying out the window through which she had come.

The letter was simply a reminder of the game the following day with the location: Briar's Field, near Manchester. It also included a reiteration of the invitation for lunch, which brought to Draco's attention the fact that he hadn't officially changed his plans with Pansy. He scribbled a note, telling her they would meet for dinner in Hogsmeade, and sent it off right then.

That evening before dinner, Draco went flying. At first he'd been slightly worried that he wouldn't remember how to fly, that the broom wouldn't respond to him the way it used to—that he might even fall off—but within moments it felt as though he'd never stopped. After taking a few laps around the Manor grounds, he went to the pitch on the property, set up a ward around it, and let loose a Snitch. He was fairly certain he wouldn't be asked to play Seeker the next day, but it was what Draco loved more than anything else. After an hour or so, the sun about to set, Draco got out a Quaffle and practiced dodging Bludgers and scoring.

He took dinner in the dining room, enjoying the thin line of sweat at his hairline and the way his blood rushed through his veins.

As he soaked in the bath, Draco pondered over the day to come. He knew it could end badly, but he wanted things to go well for a few reasons. His answer to Pansy about why he was playing had been truthful. Not being enemies with Harry Potter could only be a good thing for Draco's family. More than anything, however, the practice session earlier had lit a fire in his blood, and he was thrilled at the chance to fly, to play. He resolved to be on his best behavior and make the most of the opportunity.

**ooo**

The next morning, Draco Apparated a quarter of a mile from Briar's Field a few minutes after he was supposed to be there. He certainly didn't want to be the first person there and arriving late would give him a chance to see who else would be playing. Plus, the walk would help him steady his nerves. He had dressed in a traditional practice uniform and brought along something to change into for lunch.

He could hear people talking and laughing as he approached the field and his stomach flopped nervously. He stopped on the edge of the woods and surveyed the scene before him.

There were thirteen people gathered in the center, all with brooms, and it looked as though they were sorting teams. A chest containing the game balls sat off to the side. He counted four redheads, spotted Potter, and recognized a few people from his days at Hogwarts.

"They're waiting for you."

Draco jumped, startled, and spun toward the owner of the voice.

Hermione Granger—at least he thought her name was still Granger—was sitting on an orange sofa about twenty yards away, her legs propped under her, and a book in her hands, watching him curiously.

He'd been so focused on the field that he hadn't noticed her, or the horrible sofa.

"I … yes." He looked back at the field and took a few steps. Then the reality of what he was about to do crashed around him, and he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. His vision started to get spotty on the edges, so he stepped back, closing his eyes breathing deeply until the tightness cleared.

"All right, Malfoy?" Her eyebrows quirked with concern.

He tried to say yes, but found he couldn't yet, so he nodded instead.

"Here, sit."

She was at his side, pulling his elbow toward the sofa. He sat, feeling much better now that he could breathe again.

"Nervous?" she said, her tone amused.

"A bit."

"Don't be. Everyone's agreed to be nice today." An amused smile touched her lips.

"Right."

He looked at her then. She was wearing a white sundress that went just past her knees, thin straps over her delicate shoulders. Her feet were bare, but he saw a pair of sandals on the ground beside the sofa. Her hair was mostly the same, but the sun was hitting it just right, bringing out the different colored strands of gold, bronze and auburn. She was smiling, still amused at his discomfort, and he thought he'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Not in the way most men saw beauty—legs and chests and face—but in the way her pretty mouth was curved higher on one side, her eyes were radiant with life, and her face told the story of how happy she was.

"You sure you're all right?" she asked, a shadow of concern passing over her face.

Her question broke his train of thought and he blinked, thinking he'd been caught in a strange vortex. When he looked at her again, she was still there, still happy, still beautiful. His heart started pounding.

"Yes, I … I'm fine."

"Can you walk?"

He nodded, though he wasn't sure he could.

"They're waiting," she said, pointing at the field.

Two teams had been formed and had Charmed their uniform tops to either red or green. The red team, Potter's team, was short one player.

"Right," Draco said, feeling surer of himself. He wanted to ask her why she was there, why she was sitting on a sofa so far from the action, what she was reading, but he couldn't. He stood, tested his legs, and started toward the field.

He didn't look back at Hermione, but an image of her was burned into his brain, as though he were staring at her. And then, without warning, the image blurred and he saw her seven years earlier, writhing on the floor of his drawing room, his crazy aunt pointing her wand and cackling. He shivered and nearly tripped, then stopped to look at her again.

She was sitting just as he'd left her, reading. It struck him that part of what made her so captivating, so instantly interesting, was her grace and poise following the events in his home.

He resumed his walk to his team, wondering how he could have forgotten about Bellatrix hurting her before his very eyes. He had never especially cared for the girl, had carried his usual prejudice against her and took every opportunity he could to ridicule and belittle her, but the hate, the spite was all borrowed. He'd never fully taken it into his heart for himself. His formative years were spent trying to impress his father, then the Dark Lord, and then suddenly he was all grown up, yet also a small boy, stuck in man's world. He couldn't even recall her face between the Yule Ball fourth year and that day in his drawing room.

Both memories were so different … In the first, she was fetching with her hair under control and a touch of coloring. In the last, she'd been fighting against screaming and crying, her jaw and neck clenched, but unable to hold it in. Then her eyes were shut in pain. Once, when Bellatrix let up to interrogate her, she had looked at him, pleading evident in her eyes. She had wanted him to do something, but there was no way she could have known he was just as scared as she.

He'd been in her position a few times, when his parents were gone. It didn't take much to set Bellatrix off, and she took pleasure in "teaching him lessons his mother should have." He knew inside that he should have helped Hermione, the same way he knew he shouldn't kill Dumbledore. It was a deep, resonating knowledge that he felt in his bones to the very core of his heart and soul. It went beyond everything he had heard, everything his parents had ingrained in him, touching parts of his subconscious he had never known were there.

He had been too much of a coward to listen to the voice in his head, and Dumbledore was killed and Hermione had been tortured. He didn't know how the outcomes would have been different if he had acted, but that was the thing. He would never know.

"Oi, Malfoy!"

Draco looked up and saw Harry waving him over and the rest of the red team watching him. He took a deep breath and went to Harry.

"What position do you want?" Harry asked.

"What's left?"

"You choose first."

Draco blinked. It was strange, being offered the chance to play Seeker by Harry Potter. "I'll take Chaser," he said.

Harry nodded and motioned with his head. "You're with Charlie then."

"All right."

"Don't forget to Charm your shirt red," Harry added.

Draco was still nervous, still felt as though he might pass out at any moment. He felt as though he were lifting a hundred pounds with each step he took toward Charlie and Ginny. They were talking quietly, but when Draco neared them, Charlie gave him a welcoming grin. It startled Draco.

"Hallo, mate. Welcome to the club." Charlie Weasley stood as tall as Draco, his straight red hair falling around his face in thick clumps. It was longer in the back, and pulled into a ponytail.

"Er … what club?"

"The 'Once-Seekers-now-Chasers-because-of-Harry-Potter Club,' of course." He grinned.

Draco was so taken aback that he just stared blankly at the other man. Charlie laughed and nudged his sister.

"You played Seeker, right?" he asked.

Draco nodded.

"So did Ginny, for a year, and I did for five. But now we'll forever be Chasers because of Potter. He's always Seeker."

"Oh," said Draco, feeling his nerves calm due to Charlie's infectious good nature and easy smiles.

"Hey, I wanted to be Chaser," said Ginny, crossing her arms.

"Sure, sure, so Potter could have his spot back." Charlie turned to Draco and said, "She always fancied him, you know."

"Oh, stop," said Ginny. "Let's get to work."

As it turned out, Charlie was very good at Quidditch, no matter the position. He outlined a few plays for Draco and Ginny before the game and, since Draco had never played with their Saturday bunch, told him the weaknesses of the opposing players.

When the game started, Ron flew to his position at Keeper. George and another former Gryffindor, Dean Thomas, were the Beaters. Draco's nerves stopped bothering him the moment he was in the air. He was flying; he could fly almost before he could walk. It was the most natural thing in the world, the one thing in his life he could count on.

The game was informal and no one called fouls, though there were plenty. The opposing team was made up of mostly former Ravenclaws, with a single Hufflepuff as Beater. She was quite a force to contend with, as Draco soon found out, and he kept note of where she was at all times.

Draco had played the Chaser position as a child, but had craved the glory of the Seeker, who seemed to hold the game in his power. It wasn't until he learned more of the strategies of Quidditch that he began to appreciate the other positions as well. A Seeker might catch the Snitch but lose the game, as Krum had done at the World Cup the last time England had hosted it. Bulgaria had their star, but the Irish team as a whole had been solid. In the end, the stronger team had won.

In the air, Draco forgot about Hermione, he forgot about his parents, the week he'd been through, the letters that came with the jet-black owls. He focused on getting past the large Keeper, getting the Quaffle through one of the gold hoops, on the feel of the wind in his hair and the warm sun in his face.

Far too soon, Potter caught the Snitch, and everyone landed. They had won, 270 to 90. The other five members of Draco's team congratulated him on well-played game. They told him not to let it get to him, that Potter always won. Draco nodded and slowly walked to join Potter and the Weasleys.

A few members of Potter's team spoke to him as he walked, told him he played a good game, and they hoped to see him out again the following week.

Draco thanked them, feeling nervous again now that he was no longer flying. He hurried to join his team, anxious to be done with it.

Charlie grinned and clapped him on the back. "Nice flying, mate! Excellent hands with the Quaffle."

"Er, thanks," said Draco. "Nice catch, Potter," he called.

Harry grinned and nodded. George and Ron were trying to get the balls into the chest where they belonged but the Bludger was proving difficult.

Draco considered leaving then. He had never confirmed that he would stay for a meal, and he could always duck out, claiming work or other plans. He was debating it when Dean said goodbye to all of them and Disapparated.

"Right," said Ron immediately after the sound of the pop had faded. "Let's go eat." He looked at Draco. "Coming?"

Everyone looked at him then and he spoke without thinking. "Yes."

Ron grinned. "Excellent. Don't mind Mum; she'll think you peaky, but just nod and eat what you want."

"She'll try to force second and third helpings on you," said Ginny. She was holding hands with Harry. "But don't be afraid to tell her no."

"Sure," he said, wishing they would do something other than stand in a circle.

George joined them then. "Well, all, into the forest. Let's not keep Mum waiting, you know how she is." He started off without waiting for them.

Draco thought it strange seeing George without his twin and for the first time, wondered about the Weasleys. How had they gotten on following the war? Their father was the Minister of Magic; had that changed them? How had they dealt with the loss of a son?

Harry, Ron and Ginny followed George, leaving Draco and Charlie. It might have been awkward, but Charlie, having never been the victim of Draco's childhood antics, had the least to forgive of any of the Weasleys. It appeared that he already had, because he started talking to Draco as though he were an old friend. Draco felt perfectly at ease around Charlie.

"What's it like?" he asked as they walked. "Working with dragons? I've always been fascinated that you do that."

Charlie laughed. "A lot of people are, though they wouldn't get close to the beasts themselves. It's wonderful, it's perfect. Exactly what I want to do."

Draco nodded and glanced ahead to make sure he was still heading the right direction. He saw Hermione walking toward them, the wind blowing through her hair and whipping her dress around her knees. Draco swallowed hard.

She spoke first to Harry, Ron and Ginny, and fell back to walk beside Charlie. "Good game, Malfoy."

"Thanks," he said.

Then Hermione grinned and linked arms with Charlie. "Nice flying," she said pleasantly.

"Thank you, mon cheri." Charlie bent down and placed a kiss on the top of Hermione's head.

Draco felt slightly ill. The thoughts that hadn't formed in his mind yet, of stealing glances at her, talking to her, making her laugh, running his fingers through her hair, kissing her, now bombarded him as he listened to her chat with her beau.

The force of the feelings shocked him. He barely knew the woman, hadn't seen her in years, and now she winds up in his day, taking his breath away with her grace, and then running off with the only person around whom he'd felt comfortable. Since when did he have these kinds of thoughts, anyway? True, he hadn't been in a relationship in a long time, but these thoughts felt so … juvenile. He pushed them away and saw that they had reached the forest.

George, Harry, Ron and Ginny were waiting.

"Malfoy," said Harry. "You've never been to the Burrow, and there are wards up. You'll have to go with me."

Draco frowned. "Side-along?"

"Afraid so. All right?"

He considered telling Potter that he would rather go a month without a meal than get close enough to Side-Along Apparate, but he'd sworn to behave. He gritted his teeth and nodded. "Make it quick."

Ron sniggered. "Merlin, Malfoy. It's not like Harry's gonna pull a tooth out or something."

Ginny rolled her eyes and Hermione scowled at Ron.

Draco ignored them and waited awkwardly for Harry. "Potter?"

The bespectacled wizard went to him and held out his arm. Draco took a few deep breaths, stared above everyone's heads, and lightly put his hand on Harry's arm. Almost immediately, he felt the pull at his navel that signified Apparation, ten times worse as a passenger.

When they landed on solid ground, Draco let go of Harry's arm as though burned. Harry just gave him an amused look.

They were standing outside what appeared to be a house, with another house stacked on top of it, and a few extra rooms thrown on top for good measure. It would appear that becoming Minister of Magic had not affected Arthur Weasley in the least.

Draco glanced around the yard and saw an open shed with a car sticking out, a pair of men's legs extending from underneath it. It looked as though the car had rolled over the man, which couldn't be possible, because the car was tucked halfway into a shed.

Harry saw where Draco was looking and explained to him that Arthur had always been fascinated with Muggles and their cars. After the disaster with the Ford Anglica, he had promised his wife he wouldn't purchase another car in order to magically enhance it. Instead, he found an old Volkswagon and liked to spend part of his Saturdays 'tinkering under the hood.'

"I see," said Draco, catching the faint sound of whistling coming from the shed.

"Look, Malfoy. Thanks for coming out," said Harry. "I'm sure you didn't know what to make of my inviting you, but I'm glad you came."

"I had a great time," he said truthfully.

"So great that you'd agree to come out next week too?"

Draco looked at Harry skeptically. "Why?"

"We're one man down. Bill—that's Ron's oldest brother—and his wife, Fleur, are in France for a month visiting her family. We could find someone else, but if you want the spot, it's yours."

"Why did you invite me in the first place? Was that a show for all those reporters?" What Draco really wanted to know was why Potter had kept a box safe for his father while he was in prison. He didn't think it was the right time to ask, and probably he should be asking his father. Still, he was intensely curious.

"No," said Harry. "No show. I had just got to thinking, with your father's impending release. It … seemed like the right thing to do."

Draco waited for more, but the others were arriving. Charlie and Hermione appeared closest to the house, and walked together toward it, still arm in arm.

Ron came up beside Draco and Harry and scoffed. "Disgusting, isn't it?"

Harry chuckled.

Draco glanced at the redhead. "What, are they together?"

"Who knows?" said Ron. "They've been off and on for years. One week they're not talking, the next they can't live without each other. Bloody obnoxious. Wish they'd just get married and be done with it."

"Ron, you're always saying that," Harry chided. "She isn't going to marry Charlie. They're good friends."

"I heard Charlie's got a girl back in Romania," said Ginny, catching up to them and taking Harry's hand.

Just as they reached the house, Charlie emerged, his wand in hand. "We're eating outside. George, help me with the tables?"

It wasn't long before Draco felt completely ill at ease. After the Quidditch players had changed their clothes, all of the Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, were rushing about being productive. Some of them carried things, others chopped, and poured, and stirred. Draco tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, and ended up standing along near the tomato bush, watching a garden gnome sneaking through the rows of vegetables.

"Ready!" cried George.

Everyone descended upon the table like locusts to a field of wheat. Draco approached slowly, worried that if he made any sudden movements, he might lose a finger. Harry noticed him first, and scooted closer to Ginny, pushing Ron away, to make room.

The meal was unlike any in his home, but reminiscent of Hogwarts. They sat at a picnic table in very close quarters, passing food every which way, talking loudly and over everyone else.

"Ooh! Draco, dear," said Molly when she spotted him. She smiled and waved pleasantly. "Nice to have you! Stay for tea?"

He groaned inwardly, the limits of his patience already expended. He could not make it an entire Weasley day. Fortunately, someone spoke to her, so he ducked out of her sight and tried desperately to think of something to say that would get him involved in a conversation. By sheer luck, he was seated across from Hermione.

She was sandwiched between Charlie and George, and neither was speaking to her at the moment. She was eating her meal, chewing slowly, and had a far-off look in her eyes, as though she was thinking deeply about something.

"Why did you come?" he asked her, hoping she would hear him over the ruckus around them.

"Hmm?" she said, her gaze dropping to meet his eyes. "To Quidditch?"

"Yeah. All you did was read."

"I watched," she said in mock indignation. Her eyes were dancing with mirth, the sun hitting them in such a way that they seemed to stretch for infinite. "That move you did, where you had the ball, and were flying at the other team."

"Right. That one," he said, teasing her.

She quirked an eyebrow. "You spun around on your broom to fake the other person out. Then dodged the other two between you and the goal. Scored. I saw it."

He hated the swell of pride that bubbled in him at the knowledge that she had paid special attention to him, if only for a moment. Juvenile, it was. He reminded himself that she'd probably seen all of Charlie's moves, good or not.

"So you glanced away from you book for half a second."

"It's a lovely place to read, very relaxing. I go every week." She smiled at him as a basket was passed in front of her face.

"What's with the sofa?" he asked.

She laughed. "It's the most comfortable thing you could ever sit on."

"But it's … orange, it's hideous!"

"I'll have you know I rescued that delightful piece of furniture from certain doom and restored it to health. Cleaned it, refluffed the cushions, and brought it back into its prime."

It was his turn to laugh. "In other words, you nicked it from the rubbish pile."

"I … well … you sat on it. Is your only complaint the color?" She challenged.

"I reckon so … though the fabric was scratchy. Probably had fleas." He teased, finding it rather natural to flirt with her.

She laughed again, and then George called her attention away. Though Draco was unhappy that she was no longer talking to him, it gave him the opportunity to stare at her a bit. He wanted to see if he could pinpoint the source of her radiance, to find some tell that would give away her secret. All through lunch, he watched her talk to her friends and laugh; he noticed that she constantly tucked her hair behind her right ear. Near the end of the meal, he became enamored with her hands. They were thin, but strong, worn from hard work. She held her fork with a serene grace that pureblooded witches would sell their kidneys for.

Harry tried to make conversation with him a few times, but it was stilted and inevitably they fell to silence, and Harry was swept into another conversation.

After the dishes had been cleared and everyone remained at the table, talking, Draco stood to take his leave.

"No, no you don't," said Molly, getting up and going to him. "We haven't had pudding yet, young man."

Arthur smiled at him kindly from the end of the table, as though to say he was sorry for his wife's persistence, but that he really should stay for pudding.

"Really, Mrs. Weasley, I've lingered long enough. I should be going."

She looked as though she might force him back into his seat, but Harry stood up and clapped him on the back.

"Good having you out, Malfoy. I'll walk you outside the wards."

Molly sent a short-lived glare Harry's way and returned to her seat. The rest of the Weasleys waved goodbye and he returned it, glancing at Hermione as he did. She was smiling at him like the others and gave him a small wave.

They walked out of ear-shot of the table and Draco let out his breath. He was nearly free; though his day hadn't gone as badly as he had feared, it had still been awkward and he could sense all of the things that remained unsaid between him and them. One Quidditch game and lunch couldn't erase the past and he knew it.

"That was …" he began.

"Interesting," Harry finished, walking into the woods on one end of the property, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Could've been worse."

"No kidding."

"I think George and Charlie had a bet going about you and Ron, which of you would physically assault the other."

"Well, neither of us did."

"I have a feeling Ron got wind of it and had Ginny bet that way for him. Charlie and George's bets are famous for approaching ludicrous. I think that's one reason Ron didn't interact much with you. Which means, now that I think of it, that Ginny and I should have a neat little sum headed our way. Maybe we'll go away for a weekend."

"I'd like to have been in on that," Draco said, his boots crunching twigs with a satisfying _snap _on every step. "Might have made the occasion more interesting."

Harry chuckled. "I don't think we needed any help with that."

Draco stopped walking and looked at Harry. "So, what gives, Potter? When do we talk about this?"

Harry frowned. "About what?"

"About … that time in fourth year we tried to hex each other and ended up hitting Granger and Goyle. About you pummeling me after beating us in Quidditch fifth year, me constantly cracking on Weasley and his family, Granger …" He didn't like to think about that because always, it ended with images on her writhing on his drawing floor in agony.

Harry waved his hand dismissively. "No need."

"Are you sure?"

"We've all talked about it," said Harry. "Ron, Ginny, Hermione and me. If you're willing to overlook the past, so are we."

Draco pursed his lips and considered Harry. "We were kids, but I was more at fault than any of you."

"You had some stupid ideas, but you inherited them. So long as you aren't spouting off that ignorant rubbish, we'd like to think we might get along with you."

Draco wasn't ready to let it go yet. He had said and done a lot of terrible and stupid things as a child, and over the years, he'd come to recognize that. He'd repeated the things he'd heard at home but after being forced into a man's role at the age of sixteen, he quickly found he didn't know what he believed. He remained in a state of constant fear, hoping that no one would notice him or ask him to do anything. After the war, he'd again been put into a position usually reserved for someone much older than he, and childish insults, pranks, spells, and words hadn't been a part of his life since.

Still, he was aware of the effect his behavior as a child had on those around him, and he was willing to accept that some damage was too deep, too thorough to be forgotten. With Potter and Weasley, it had been words, Quidditch, mildly harmful curses in the halls. With Granger, it had been far worse. He'd not only attacked her for her house and friends, but for her very nature, her essence. And he had watched her be tortured and done nothing.

"No ignorant rubbish. I've been extra-educated in that regard."

"Good," said Harry. "Then, friends?"

"Why?" asked Draco. "Why now, why … friends?"

Harry shrugged. "Why not?"

"It's not done for no reason. What made you invite me here, what makes you want to … be friends? And don't give me some empty cliché that means nothing. I'm not looking for a new gaggle of mates, so there had better be a really good reason for me to accept this."

Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Malfoy. What's wrong with wanting to set things right? You offered friendship once, and I spurned it. Now, I'm trying to fix it. If that's not a good enough reason, then …" Harry stopped then and looked at Draco intently, searching his eyes so hard he was squinting. Then he continued. "Don't take this any way, and don't even bother asking questions; I can't answer them. You may not need friends right now, this moment, but you might, someday."

At once, Draco thought of the box Harry had stored and remembered the way Lucius had looked when Harry returned it to him. Potter knew something.

In two quick strides, Draco was in Harry's face, looking down at the slightly shorter man, anger evident in his sneer. "Tell me," he said, his voice shaking with fury. "Tell me, or so help me, I will—"

Harry pushed Draco away with surprising force, his face set but not angry. "I told you, I can't answer your questions. Malfoy, just think about it, all right? Come back next week if you'd like. You are welcome."

"How much farther?" Draco demanded.

Harry pointed. "That tree with the red leaves. You'll be able to Apparate beyond it."

Draco was already walking, his blood pounding in his ears. He heard Potter sigh. Once he reached the tree he Apparated without a look back.

He arrived in his bedroom, and took several deep breaths to calm himself. Then he went to the window, threw open the curtains and sat in the window seat, leaning his forehead against the window.

It irked him tremendously that Potter knew something about his family, something that would one day affect him—from the way Potter spoke, negatively—and he had no clue about it. His father had refused to speak on the subject, and it appeared that his mother knew about the box and its significance as well. Why was he being left out? Why was Potter let in? None of it made any sense.

Potter's offer of friendship was insane. How did the man think they would ever be more than acquaintances? Did he envision Draco joining them for meals, or inviting him to parties? What could they talk about? Their lives were completely different; in the seven years since school, they had only intersected on a few occasions, all of them war-related. Draco donated money, publicly, and then Potter thanked him, publicly. That's how it had gone.

The others … Weasley, Ginny, George …. He hadn't seen them since the end of the war, and he didn't assume that Potter's invitation came from them as well. He knew better than that.

Charlie, on the other hand, Draco could see himself actually talking to.

But Granger … she was completely different. He felt uncomfortable twinges in his heart when he thought of her, and knew that he wanted to apologize to her. He hadn't admitted regret or sorrow at his previous actions to very many people—perhaps only Greg—but he had wronged her most egregiously, and to her he wished to make it right. Or, rather, better; he could never make right what he had, and hadn't done in the past.

Slowly Draco's blood cooled and he made a point to pin his father down about that box when he returned. Then he decided that if the chance ever came up, he would speak to Hermione and make things better.

bcenterooo/center/b

"You look awful," said Pansy Parkinson as Draco slid into the seat across from her. She was wearing a revealing, dark blue dress that displayed her chest in such a way that all the men who passed their table glanced over. Her hair was pulled back with a sparkling barrette and done in an old-fashioned finger-wave.

"Nice to see you, too," Draco said, barely glancing at her as he reached for the wine menu.

Pansy inhaled on her cigarette and blew the smoke to the side.

Draco scowled and reached over, took the fag from her hand, and put it out in the ashtray. "You think I'd ever want to kiss you? That's so disgusting, Pansy."

She pretended to be upset and opened her menu. "Why are you late?"

"Busy," he said, still reading the wine list.

"Draco?" she said in a strained voice that made him look up. "Why do you hate me so much?" Her eyes were full and bright, as though she might cry at any moment.

He closed the menu, forcing a steady stream of air through his nose. "I don't hate you, Pansy."

"You do," she pouted. "Here we are at a nice restaurant, and you're late, in a bad mood, and you haven't even seen what a pretty dress I'm wearing."

Draco gave her the once-over and forced a smile. "You're smashing, as always."

"You're such a liar," Pansy said, reaching into her purse for more lipstick.

The waiter arrived then and they ordered.

"Well?" Draco said. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"I'm sure there are places you'd rather be," she simpered. Then she was all business. "Why don't we just get married, Draco? Things will be so much simpler. Think what an asset to your business I would be."

He scoffed and took a sip of his wine.

"I'm serious!" she said, upset at his dismissal. "I have taken my father's money and increased it by over fifty percent, and you know how much traveling and shopping my mother and I do. I'm really very good with making money, although I much prefer spending it."

"We don't love each other," he said, tired with the same argument. "Never have, never will."

"Oh, don't be such a romantic, Draco. There's no need to bring love into this equation. We'll both make do. It will be a mutually beneficial partnership, one where we are both accepting of each other's dalliances."

"Perhaps I am something of a romantic, Pansy, but I don't want a partnership. I want …" He had no idea, really; all he knew was that it wasn't what she was describing so flippantly. "Something else. I wouldn't be opposed to loving the woman I marry."

"But think, will you?" She leaned closer, talking quietly. "You'll always have me, and I you, but we'd be free to seek out and find love in other places."

"Yes," he said, getting annoyed. "I grasp the concept. What you fail to hear is that I don't want that sort of arrangement. I … fine." He leaned forward as well. "Let's discuss your arrangement. What if I agree, and we … dally, and one of us falls in love? What if I want to be with her, or you with your lover? What then?"

"We won't let that happen. But if it does, then, you can be with her," said Pansy stiffly. He could tell she didn't like the idea one bit.

"Not just be with her, but make her my wife. What then?"

Pansy glared at him. "We would be married. You would have to settle for having a mistress."

"Would she move in with us?" he bit out. Draco's words were laced with ire and his tone venomous. "Share the bed? Better yet, we'll take the bed, give you a cot. Or you could have your own room, find someone for yourself."

"Stop it!" she cried, banging her fist on the table.

Draco leaned back, aware of the looks they were getting. "No. I wouldn't risk it. If I accept your proposal, I will have no intention of seeking a woman to love. If it happens anyway, well, we would cross that bridge when we got to it."

Pansy was breathing very hard, her chest heaving. Draco wondered for a moment whether she was trying to catch his attention, but her expression was one of frustration and hurt. Unfortunately, she caught the waiter's attention instead, and he tripped, spilling their meals all over the floor right beside their table.

Draco rolled his eyes and finished his glass of wine. Pansy, on the other hand, shrieked and jumped away from the mess, her hand flying to her heart. The waiter apologized profusely, and Pansy berated him for nearly spilling something on her dress. made a show of having him help her see if anything had gotten on her or her dress.

Meanwhile, Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose at the minor scene Pansy was making. By the time the waiter left, he was muttering apologies with every breath, backing away like a puppy with its tail between its legs. That was Pansy; she could chew a man up just as easily as she could seduce him.

"That could have ruined my dress," Pansy said when she finally sat down.

"That would have been a tragedy," said Draco in a bored tone.

"The meal should be free," she muttered, scowling at the empty spot where her plate should have been.

He chuckled. "The man dropped our food. I should hope we'd get some sort of compensation."

"We've gotten sidetracked." Pansy raised a well-groomed eyebrow, as though daring him to be the one to resume their discussion.

Draco let out an exaggerated sigh. "Call me a romantic if you will. I want more than what you're offering. It's as simple as that."

"You see?" she said, her eyes blazing. "You do hate me."

"I don't hate you. I don't love you the way you want, and I don't understand why you want to marry me. You barely tolerate me as it is!"

Tears welled in her eyes, and Draco knew he had finally hurt her. He hadn't meant to, at least, for the most part. He had wanted her to understand why he couldn't accept her proposal, and he never really knew how far he could push before she'd feel it.

"Merlin, Pansy, I'm sorry," he said, reaching for her hand.

She snatched it away and pulled a handkerchief from her purse. "Don't touch me, Draco. I don't see why you'd want to. Since you hate me."

Draco growled quietly in frustration. "Pansy—"

"You know what? I'm not even hungry anymore." She stood up, tossed her napkin on the table, drank what was left in her wine glass, and stormed through the restaurant toward the door.

She'd never resorted to such dramatics before, and it took Draco a few seconds to react. He stood, apologized to the waiter who was bringing them a second bottle of wine, tossed down a handful of coins, and went after her. He caught up to her at the door where she was putting on her light cardigan.

"Pansy," he said, taking her elbow.

"Don't, Draco," she said, her tone dangerous. She flashed him another glare and burst through the door onto the street.

Again, Draco followed her.

"Honestly, Pansy, I don't get it. I—"

He wasn't able to finish his sentence, however, because Pansy spun on her heel, closed the short distance between them, and kissed him. Her lips moved fiercely against his, desperate, insistent. She prodded his lips with her tongue, and when he didn't admit her, bit gently on his lower lip. Draco didn't know what he was supposed to do. Should he kiss her back? Would that help the situation? Or would she think he was responding to her because she had ignited something inside him? Stuck in indecision, Draco merely stood there for the few seconds it took Pansy to get out of her system whatever had propelled her to kiss him.

She backed away from him and sighed. "Well. That was awful. You're a rotten kisser."

Her words jolted Draco from his shock and he leveled his gaze on her. "I am not a rotten kisser."

"Yes, you are. I just kissed you, and it was terrible." She sniffed and pulled her cardigan around her. "This dress is so impractical, what was I thinking?"

Draco stood rooted in place, and his hands felt oddly out of place. He had no idea what to do with them, so he finally shoved them in his pockets. "Pansy …."

"I love you," she said, laughing lightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Doesn't that count for something?"

He stared at her, stunned into silence and inaction. She wiped her nose on the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, a futile exercise since she was still crying.

"Merlin help me, I do, Draco. Did you really not know?"

Slowly he shook his head, his mind frozen, locked in panic.

"I've tried so hard to get you to n-notice me, pay attention to me as a woman. I do things I think you'll like, buy clothes that are supposed to help me. Remember when you said you liked the way dark purple looked on me? I spent almost a thousand Galleons on dark purple clothes. I _hate_ purple. And you never noticed any of it."

Draco was desperately trying to form a coherent thought that he could turn into something useful to say. All he could do was wonder how she thought sleeping with every man she came across would make him notice her. "I … Pansy, I didn't know."

"Now you do," she said, her anger deflating. "I finally decided the only way I could get you to listen to me, to consider being with me, was through an official proposition, drafted by a lawyer."

"Pansy," he said, still not knowing what he could say. "I've never felt that way about you. I'm sorry. I thought you fancied the life you'd have with me; I thought it was a phase." He nearly slipped and told her that the only reason he hadn't said no yet was because he needed the money. Not only would that have made her feel even worse, but she would have demanded to know what he meant.

"I guess … that's a no, then," she said, sniffing.

Bugger, it would have to be. His chest tightened at the idea of losing a way out of his financial difficulties, but a moment later it relaxed and he felt better, though only slightly, than he had since he'd received the elaborate document by official post.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She looked like she might cry again, then she sucked in her breath and gave him a small smile. "I think this might be the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Draco was still recovering from her declaration and her comment confused him. "How's that?" he asked gently.

"I have wanted to kiss you for years," Pansy said, pulling a cigarette and her wand from her purse. With a flick, she lit the end and inhaled deeply. "Years, Draco."

"I'm sorry it was so terrible then. What a disappointment."

She laughed and started walking. "It really was. I thought there would be … sparks, fireworks. I thought the world would stop and that you would finally see me, see what we could be together. I think I've been in love with an idea for so long that I'd come to imagine it was the only way I could possibly be happy."

He still didn't know what to say, so he walked beside her, comfortable for the first time in years.

"I think I'll take a holiday," she mused. "Alone. It would do me some good, I think. I need to remember me, I think. Instead of the me-who-is-waiting-for-you."

"Pansy," said Draco. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Really. I feel like a whole new woman already."

Draco scowled, and after a few moments of silence, muttered, "I'm not a terrible kisser. I've never had any complaints before."

"Fine, fine," she said impatiently. "Your ego must be soothed after that egregious wound it suffered. That was a terrible ikiss/i. Better?"

"Mildly." He smiled slightly.

They stopped outside an alley from which they would both Disapparate, and Pansy smiled at Draco in a way he'd never seen before.

"Pansy, I'm confused. What happened tonight?"

She sighed dramatically and tossed the butt of her cigarette on the ground, then snuffed it with the heel of her shoe. "My world—at least, what I thought was my world—got turned inside out, but it was okay. I'm going to be okay. I'm going to travel somewhere I've never been, see what I can see with new eyes."

"Do you … still fancy me?" Her demeanor was so serene now, so calm, that if he hadn't been with her the entire time, he would have bet she'd taken a Calming Draught.

"I'm not sure!" she marveled. "Even if I do, that kiss doesn't exactly pique my interest. How about I come over when I get back? We'll have tea, and talk. Like we did, once."

"Sure, I'd like that."

"Night, Draco," she said, and stepped into the dark alley.

Draco waited for the characteristic _pop_ and then continued walking down the street in search of something to eat.

**ooo**

**A/N**: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Hermione's entrance into the story. I'd love to hear any and all theories you have so far on what's going on. Many thanks to my betas: manda, zoe, pokeystar, & drcjsnider. Music thanks to inadaze22. Chapter title belongs to The Postal Service.

**Art Credit**: The faboluous manip for this chapter was done by silverotter1.


	4. A Day's Work

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 4 - - A Day's Work**

**- - -**

Draco was in a quandary. He had one hour until he had to be in his office in another part of London, listening to a presentation on why investing in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was a good financial venture. Though he was actually looking forward to the meeting, following his not-so-horrible interactions with both George and Ron the previous Saturday, he had several things he had to take care of, and he would he hard-pressed to make it on time.

First, he had to Floo to Gringotts for the daily deposit. Usually someone else went instead, but on the third Wednesday of every month, he was required in person to sign monthly statements, and to compare his ledger with the bank's. With so much money being transacted, it took nearly fifteen minutes to complete the task, once he got in to speak with his liaison.

He checked his watch and scowled at the line in front of him. He kept glancing around the lobby, hoping to see one of the goblins with whom he was on slightly friendly terms so that he could be shuffled into the back room to complete his business.

With luck, he spotted Marmoot and gestured for his attention. Marmoot held a senior level position within Gringotts and often assisted Draco personally with anything he needed. The Malfoy name still held sway here, where Galleons, gold, and gems moved the world. Of course, Marmoot hadn't missed the steadily dwindling balance; he'd simply been too professional to mention it.

Marmoot shuffled across the lobby and stopped in front of Draco. "Mr. Malfoy. Follow me."

They entered a small room and Draco set his briefcase on the table.

"I will be back with the necessary paperwork," said Marmoot. He returned in under five minutes, and they began the process of signing, initialing, checking and double-checking that everything was in order.

Twelve minutes later, Draco snapped his briefcase shut and shook hands with the goblin. He walked briskly across the lobby, his shoes click-clacking against the marble floor and his robes billowing out behind him. He checked his watch as he exited the bank. Forty-four minutes remained until his meeting.

Draco mentally went through his checklist and Draco headed to the Apothecary, as it was nearest the bank. The Apothecary for Essence of Murlap, then Obscurus Books to pick up a book he had ordered, next the Quidditch shop for a new bottle of polishing oil, and finally, Twilfoot and Tattings to pick up a new shirt he had needed fitted.

He had very little time to run his errands, and tried to get to them all during one trip. He usually wrote the shop ahead of time, asking that someone put his purchases to the side, so he would only have to go to the counter and pay.

The one place he didn't write ahead was the Apothecary, because the purveyor was disabled and had a hard time ambling through the narrow aisles. Draco knew exactly where the item was that he sought, which aisle, which shelf. He was still going through his list as he walked into the shop, turned right, found the third aisle, and headed for the second set of shelves. It would be on the top, third space from the left. He was so immersed in his routine that he didn't notice a young woman approaching his destination from the other end of the aisle. He didn't see her at all until his hand closed around her hand, which was also wrapped around the last bottle of Essence of Murlap.

Surprised at the unexpected contact, he looked down, without releasing his hand, into the questioning eyes of Hermione Granger.

As though a jolt of magic had touched his spine, Draco immediately jerked his hand away, but was unable to avert his eyes. Wordlessly, she pulled her hand away as well, leaving the bottle on the shelf.

"Granger," he said, stunned at seeing her.

"Hallo, Malfoy," she replied cheerfully.

Hermione was wearing a pair of jeans and a jumper, and her hair was pulled back with a purple ribbon. Even though they were in the middle of the most concentrated Wizarding area in all of England, next to her, he felt out of place in his stark black robes.

Draco glanced back at the bottle. "You take it," he said. "I can return in a few days when there's a new shipment."

"No, you take it," she said.

"Really, I insist." He picked up the bottle and extended it to her.

"I don't really need it," she said. "I've got a nearly full bottle at home. Whenever I open a new bottle, I like to buy another, to make sure I've always got plenty. Honest, I won't even touch it for weeks."

He hesitated. Courtesy dictated that he allow her to purchase the bottle.

Hermione smiled, and he saw again the beauty he had seen the previous Saturday. She gently pushed the bottle away, her fingers grazing his and sending nearly imperceptible waves of electricity through his hand.

"I mean it, Malfoy. I'm sure you need it more than I do."

"You're sure?" he said, holding the bottle as though it might bite him.

"Quite. Take it." She nodded and smiled.

"All right." He decided to write the Potions firm that afternoon and have them send a bottle to her, on him. Draco nodded and was about to wish her a good day when he remembered his pledge to speak with her the next chance he had. This was a perfect opportunity, as she was alone. The only potential complication was his meeting in thirty-six minutes.

"Er, Hermione?" he said, tasting the sound of her name on his tongue.

She looked up from a piece of paper in her hands, obviously surprised at hearing her given name. "Yes?"

"Could … we go somewhere, and … talk?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, searching his face. "Well, all right." Her tone was wary.

He let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and gave her a small grin. "I'll go purchase this and join you outside."

Soon they were walking together toward the nearest café, neither speaking, not knowing what to say.

While Draco was well-known in the Wizarding world, and received his share of odd looks whenever he went out, Hermione was a celebrity. Even seven years after the war, she still turned heads, especially those of witches and wizards who didn't live in London or Hogsmeade, and therefore didn't see her often.

The two of them walking together drew more looks than either alone had received, combined. For Draco, interest was generated by his being seen with not only a Muggle-born, but the most famous and memorable Muggle-born witch of their time. He knew that Hermione was getting looks, not only because he'd been a Death Eater, but also because of his name. He had been in the paper a lot in the weeks leading up to, and the days following, his father's release from Azkaban.

When the unlikely pair arrived at the café, they were asked if they preferred a table in or out of doors.

Both Draco and Hermione said, "Inside," at the exact same moment. They looked at each other and Hermione blushed, then quickly they nervously averted their eyes elsewhere.

Once seated across from each other at a quaint table near the back, Draco ordered a cup of tea and Hermione a glass of water.

"Have something else," Draco told her after the waiter left.

"I'm fine, really. Just finished lunch."

"There were some incredible looking pastries under the glass," he said.

She smiled shyly. "No, really. Thank you, though."

Draco nodded and attended to his tea, adding two sugar cubes and stirring, concentrating on not thinking about what he was about to do.

"Do you always do that?" Hermione asked, drawing his attention.

"Do I always do what?"

"Stir your tea that way. Three turns clockwise, one counter."

He stopped and looked at his hand, then back at her, and resumed stirring. "I suppose I do, unconsciously."

"It's like Pepper-Up Potion," she remarked, taking a sip of water.

Draco chuckled. "You're right. Merlin knows I've brewed that potion more times than I can count."

"Oh?" she asked.

"During the most hectic business seasons, I practically live off of a modified Pepper-Up—essentially a stimulant—and coffee. It's terrible, I know, but I do what I must."

"How often do you have busy seasons?" Hermione asked.

"Well, September through December, small break for a few weeks in January, then the end of January through June." It struck Draco that she was genuinely interested, not just asking questions to fill the silence. Her manner was easy, and they more they spoke, the more relaxed he became.

"Then this is a slow period?"

"Yes, though things will pick up soon. After school starts again, people will be focused on business once more."

"Ah." She glanced toward the counter as she took another drink.

"Order something," Draco said, guessing that her gaze had landed on something sweet. "It's on me, might as well take advantage."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely." He motioned for the waiter and Hermione ordered a chocolate-filled croissant.

After she took her first bite, her eyes fluttering as she tasted the pastry, he decided he'd best get on with things.

"So, Potter wants to be friends." She nodded and immediately he saw skepticism in her eyes. "That's what I suspected," he said.

"Don't get me wrong," she said after swallowing. "I have nothing against the idea of being friends, I just haven't really worked out how it's supposed to happen yet. I've tried thinking about it, picturing you in the group whenever we're together."

"Doesn't really work, does it?" His smirk was teasing.

"No," she said, smiling. "But then, we don't know you at all. It will take some time, and I'm sure it will be awkward at first. Are you coming out this weekend for Quidditch?"

"I haven't decided yet." He paused to carefully consider his next words. "Regardless of what I choose, I wanted to speak with you."

She nodded, chewing, her expression full of curiosity and skepticism.

Draco took a deep breath and continued. "With Potter and Weasley, I can dismiss my past actions as those of childhood. Potter refused my friendship, so I didn't like him. Weasley was Potter's friend, so I didn't like him either. Children don't always get along; they get into fights, call names, make fun. Curse each other in the hallways. They were just as guilty as I was."

"You have no idea," she agreed.

"The same cannot be said for the way I treated you. The way I spoke to you, the names I called you, were drawn from an inherited well of hate and intolerance. I simply repeated what I learned at home. By the time I was forced to think for myself, I didn't spare any thought about you or any wrongs I had committed. I was focused on not getting killed."

He chanced a glance at her. She had put down the croissant, half eaten, and was watching him with a slight frown on her face. He returned to watching the steam rise off his untouched cup of tea.

"I realize that apologizing for my actions means very little. I can't change the past, and in this situation, my words have little meaning to you, I'm sure." He paused. "Therefore, in addition to my apology, I … I want you to know …" Now he met her gaze, an action he hadn't been sure he would be able to accomplish.

She returned it, her eyes full of questions and searching his.

"I know I was wrong," he said, feeling his chest tighten from stretched nerves. "It was wrong to hate you for something over which you had no control. To ridicule and belittle you at every turn for it." Now he couldn't look away, even if he tried. She didn't seem to be breathing, either. He swallowed hard.

"And, lastly, I was wrong not to help you that day, during the war. In my … with my aunt."

Hermione inhaled sharply and bit her lip, her brown eyes now shining.

"I'm not saying that my sixteen-year-old self would have done any differently, but I knew, that day, that it was wrong to just stand there, yet I was too afraid to interfere. I would like to think that the man I am today would have tried to help you."

He let out his breath, feeling lighter than he had in years. No matter what her response, he had done what he could to make it better.

When he looked at her again, she was staring at her hands, folded in her lap.

"I should have apologized much sooner, but … suffice it to say that my life has not exactly been mine. I've tried very hard not to think too much about the war, and hadn't thought much about that day until I saw you on Saturday." There; he'd done it. He was finished.

They didn't speak for a few minutes, and then Hermione looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears but a smile on her face.

"Thank you. Draco."

He returned her smile with an even bigger one, feeling oddly at peace and almost … happy.

"You're right, a simple, 'I'm sorry,' wouldn't have meant a lot, but to know you've grown up from that boy in school means a great deal."

"Have you … Did you have any lasting effects of the curse?" he asked tentatively.

"No," she said quickly, looking at her pastry.

Draco's watch beeped at that moment, indicating that he had five minutes to get across London to make his meeting. He turned it off and took a sip from his now tepid tea.

"Do you need to go?" she asked.

"Yes. But if I'm late, it's not the end of the world."

"Are you sure?"

He shrugged. "It's not as if they can start without me." He took two more quick swallows of tea before he'd had enough. "Would you like to take your pastry with you?"

"I would; it's delicious."

Draco again called the waiter, threw down a few Galleons to pay for their snack, and requested a bag for Hermione.

She took it and wrapped up her croissant. "Thank you again, for this."

"It's not a problem." He stood and brushed off his robes. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me."

For some reason, she broke into a smile, and it set his heart pounding. "You should come on Saturday. They're expecting you."

"Maybe," he said, knowing he probably would go. Draco led Hermione out and held the door for her. They stood facing each other on the sidewalk, people once again staring.

"See you, then," she said, giving him a small wave before turning around and walking into the busy lunchtime crowd.

**ooo**

Draco was, in fact, late for his meeting. As soon as Hermione had disappeared from his sight, he Disapparated, appearing seconds later inside the lobby of the Malfoy Inc. Caleb, his personal assistant, looked frantic for an instant before recognizing his employer and relaxing significantly.

"Are they here?" Draco asked, accepting a folio from Caleb.

"They arrived ten minutes ago," Caleb replied, his tone clipped. "I've offered beverages and biscuits, which neither Weasley accepted."

Draco nodded and headed for the conference room with Caleb trailing behind. "Thank you. Let's hope we don't run over time."

The conference room in Malfoy Inc. offices was the third door down a hallway of twelve doors. Inside, a long, black table seated twelve, and there was a display screen on one end of the room. On a small table near the door was a fresh pot of coffee and small snacks: fruit, crackers and biscuits. One wall was made of glass and looked onto the hallway. On the opposite wall were generic paintings of country scenes. Butterflies flitted through the air, birds chirped occasionally, and in one, the faint sound of running water could be heard.

"Sorry I'm late," said Draco, removing his outer cloak and setting his briefcase on the ground near his chair. "Let's get started, shall we."

Seated around the table were three of Lucius's—and therefore Draco's—most trusted advisors, an accountant, and George and Ron Weasley. Caleb took the seat to Draco's right. Ron looked as though he might be ill, but George seemed completely relaxed.

He stood and waved his wand at the projector. A picture of his shop in Diagon Alley appeared on the screen. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, for meeting with us." When he said Draco's name, the right side of his mouth curved up in amusement. How strange it must be for George and Ron, making a formal presentation to the bloke they'd played Quidditch with a few days before.

An image popped up on the screen of a bar graph, with arrows representing sales for each year growing from the x-axis, each getting progressively taller. "As you can see, since the war, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes has managed to turn a sizable profit which grows with each year that passes. In 2001, with the opening of our Hogsmeade branch, profits nearly doubled. We believe this trend will continue …"

Another image, showing projected earning, appeared next. "And, by expanding into the greater European market, we predict a sevenfold increase in profits over the next decade. We believe that now is the time to get on board with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Next up were rendered pictures of the shop in Paris, Rome, Prague, and Madrid.

"We've done extensive field testing in Paris, and many of our items are already available to the continent through mail order."

"The European Union has different standards for wizarding establishments," Draco said. "Will you be able to meet their requirements in a timely, efficient manner, and at minimal cost?"

Ron stood then, his knuckles white as he gripped a stack of portfolios. "Yes, we will." He passed out the portfolios. "Enclosed you'll find our business plan for adapting our current methods to meet the EU's requirements."

Draco thumbed through the portfolio, aware that he had the power to make Weasley squirm. He wondered if Ron would have been more, or less, nervous about this meeting had Draco not attended the Quidditch match. The information presented was good, detailed, and thorough.

There was obviously a great deal more to the presentation, but Draco was hoping to end things early. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Weasley. If you don't mind waiting in the hall, we'll have an answer for you shortly."

George and Ron exchanged a look. George said, "Don't you want to hear the rest?"

"I've seen enough."

Exchanging unsure glances, the two brothers left the room.

"Well?" Draco said, closing the portfolio. "Thoughts?"

Chambers, an old, fragile wizard who had been old when Lucius had first hired him, spoke first. "Those lads have very red hair."

Next to speak was Dodd, another of Lucius's contemporaries. "My grandchildren love the Weasley products. George Weasley was only seventeen when he and his brother opened their shop. Nearly ten years later, he shows no signs of slowing down. I'm in favor of supporting their expansion."

Lucy Davenport, the first woman Lucius had hired, spoke last. "George Weasley has been featured in numerous journals for his innovations in spell and potion work. I heard he never took a single N.E.W.T., and barely passed any of his O.W.L. exams, yet it's obvious the man has a brain for business and magic."

"Excellent," said Draco, turning to his secretary. "Caleb, would you ask the Weasleys to join us?"

Draco watched interestedly as George and Ron returned to the room. Ron was clearly still nervous, and for the first time, George didn't look so sure of himself.

Draco stood, looking at both men, two people he might soon consider friends. "Congratulations. I look forward to the opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Paris."

Ron let out a tremendous sigh of relief and Draco thought he might collapse. George grinned widely and held his hand out to Draco, who accepted it.

"You won't regret this," said George enthusiastically. Then he turned and thanked each of Draco's advisors, plus his accountant and even Caleb. He gathered his presentation items and then he and Ron left.

Draco thanked Chambers, Dodd and Lucy for their time and bid them good fortune until he saw them again.

"You've got a meeting at two, Mr. Malfoy, and then a rescheduled appointment from last week with the Head of WhizzHard Books."

"Followed by the usual tedious paperwork and answering mail. Thank you, Caleb. I'll be in my office until two."

**ooo**

Draco arrived home at quarter to six. He stepped out of the fireplace into what was called a Travel Room. While most wizarding homes had one primary fireplace, those of the upper class usually had several. A special room was built solely for the purpose of traveling. There was always an ample supply of Floo powder, extra cloaks for keeping one's clothing clean of soot, and a place to wipe one's shoes. There were also hooks for each member of the family. Draco placed his outer cloak on the hook, to be picked up by the house-elf and laundered. When he needed it again, it would be right where he left it.

"Chippy!" Draco called once he'd left the Travel Room.

The house-elf popped in next to him and did his best to keep up with his master.

Draco was in an exceptionally good mood. He had seen Hermione, had completed his task where she was concerned. His meeting with George and Ron had gone well, and he'd felt a strange sense of satisfaction from approving their request. The rest of his day had gone quickly and without incident, and he had even stopped into the Quidditch shop on his way home for the polishing oil he needed. He was looking forward to Saturday's game of Quidditch.

"Anything of note happen while I was away?"

"No, Master."

"Good. What's for dinner?"

"I thought, perhaps, a brisket."

"Excellent. I'll have a bottle of wine with that, the '97 Chardonnay. Is there any mail?"

"Yes, Master, it is being on your desk, sir."

"Thank you, Chippy. Let me know when dinner is ready. I'll be taking it in the dining room tonight."

Chippy nodded and disappeared just as Draco reached the staircase to the second floor. He took them two at a time.

**ooo**

The evening did not go as Draco planned. He did not take his dinner in the dining room, and he changed his mind about what he wanted four times, finally canceling the whole thing. He drank no wine, only his father's best bottle of cognac that he had been saving for the birth of Draco's first child. Draco didn't think he would ever have children—never find a witch he wanted, never have a moment for himself—and so selected the vintage bottle.

He sat slumped in his office chair, facing the double French doors behind the desk that opened onto a small balcony overlooking the grounds. The doors were open and the cool night air blew through his hair. All the lights in the office were off save one candle on the desk that was almost completely gutted. The only sounds were those of the garden; crickets chirping, wind blowing, the occasional squawk of a peafowl.

Draco's mind was spinning, and there was a piece of parchment sitting open on the desk beside a small stack of photographs.

He had truly believed it would end with his father's release. After all, how could it possibly continue?

He knew he needed a plan and he was in no mood to bother coming up with one. He took another sip of the alcohol and sighed, shutting his eyes and leaning back in the chair. The wind blowing through his hair reminded him of flying and he thought of the coming Saturday, and the Quidditch game. He could scarcely believe he'd played that one game, that he'd smiled, laughed, felt almost happy. The worst part, the part he wanted to beat his head against a wall for, was that he'd believed it could last. He had thought his life might finally begin.

A plan. He mulled over the words, hoping something would come to him. In order to form a plan, he would need details, information. He needed to find the wanker and hex his bits off, then cut his fingers off one by one and stick his bleeding hands into a hot, boiling cauldron of acid. Then …

Draco finished his glass and Summoned the bottle. It wouldn't do to dwell on all the unpleasant things he wanted to do to the fool once he found him. He needed to focus on the plan.

He was alone, which made things infinitely difficult. If he had someone—just one person—off whom he could bounce ideas, someone to brainstorm with him, he would feel better. That person would have to be told his secret, then. His chest tightened at the thought of telling someone. It wasn't that he wanted to bring another person into his mess, but the thought of unburdening himself was exquisite.

There weren't a lot of options for people he could tell. His father, once he returned the signet ring, but that would be another two months, and Draco had to take action before his parents came back. He couldn't tell anyone else in his family, none of his acquaintances. There were deep and Dark spells cast on every parchment he had received, binding his tongue. The only person Draco trusted enough to even consider telling was Greg, but he was pure-blooded, bound by ancient magic as well. Even if he weren't, Draco couldn't be sure he would confide in him. They were friends, true, probably the closest friend Draco had ever had, but he'd never been one to share much about himself.

He was a private man, who had never felt the need to express his musings, thoughts, or feelings to another. As a child, he had come to learn that 'friend' meant anyone who would watch his back if given enough sweets or another payoff. He had marveled at the closeness between others, wondered why they opened themselves so much, gave other people so much power over them.

Something clicked in Draco's mind.

i You may not need friends right now, this moment, but you might, someday./i

Potter … was it possible he knew? Draco sat up in his chair, his brow furrowed. How would Potter know? He'd been sure Harry had been referring to the box he'd held for Lucius, but now he couldn't be too sure.

He stood and went onto the balcony and started pacing. After a few moments, he stopped and leaned against the railing. There was no way Potter knew anything about the letter Draco had received. Surely he would have mentioned it, not withheld that information, especially considering his offer of friendship. Draco didn't know a lot about Harry Potter, but he was certain that if Harry considered him a friend, he would tell him any news he had about Draco's troubles. He also knew that Potter was the kind of person who would help Draco, even if they weren't friends.

The wind picked up again and whipped around Draco, tousling his hair. It carried a sweet scene, of jasmine and gardenia from his mother's garden.

i You may not need friends right now, this moment, but you might, someday./i

Draco was considering telling Potter when it occurred to him that he didn't trust anyone. If he couldn't trust his closest friend with his problem, how could he expect to trust a near-stranger? And what could Potter do that Draco couldn't? He wasn't sure if he was any good at brainstorming, or research. He would probably tell Draco he felt really bad for him, spend a few minutes pretending to think, and then say he was sorry that he couldn't help.

He didn't need to consider Weasley; Draco trusted him less than Potter.

Inevitably, his thoughts fell to Hermione. She was the last person he wanted to involve, only because he'd already been the cause of too much misfortune in her life. Moreover, if he did find the bastard, he or she could be dangerous. Hermione owed him nothing; there was no reason to ask her.

Yet the more he thought of all the reasons why he didn't want to tell her, his mind conjured that many convincing arguments of why she was the perfect person to aid him. For the strangest reason, he thought he could trust her. Maybe it was what happened between them that afternoon over cold tea and half a chocolate croissant, but he felt a connection with her. She, like Potter, was the kind of person who would do anything for a friend, and even though they weren't exactly friends yet, he knew that with the proper persuasion, she would help even him. At least, he hoped.

Still, he didn't want to ask her. He had just put an ending on their past and he hated the thought of intruding, asking for her participation in his future. On the other hand, she would be ideal for brainstorming and research; so far as he knew, anyway. She'd always been exceptionally bright, and people still talked about her prowess with the wand.

The main reason Draco wanted to talk to Hermione, however, was because he suspected that he would be able to tell her everything. He would look through all the letters he had received and check, but he thought that she might be exempt from all of the dark and dangerous spells and curses put on those letters.

It occurred to him that Draco couldn't simply walk up to Hermione and ask for her help. He didn't even know what she did for a living, where he could find her. He would have to find out, and then come up with a way to make his proposition of helping him benefit her, as well. He could always offer to pay her, but he doubted that would be the proper motivator.

Draco felt himself relax for the first time all evening. He had a plan; or, rather, a plan before the actual plan could take place. Step one: recruit Hermione Granger. Step two: come up with a plan. He chuckled at his list and ran a hand through his hair.

He returned to his chair and sank into it. He felt old, too old for his twenty-five years. More than anything, he wanted this mess dealt with. It couldn't continue, it simply couldn't. Ideally, he would like to resolve it before Lucius found out, but he wasn't counting on it. He'd been putting up with it for seven years; he didn't think he'd solve it in two months.

He thought about his mother, her life over these seven years. They'd grown closer, developed the kind of friendship where they talked about their activities, their preferences on certain things—food, décor, wine—and other people. They never delved deeply into the other's life, perfectly satisfied to watch as though inspecting a painting. It was interesting, beautiful and tragic at times, but it wouldn't do to touch.

Draco didn't want her involved at all. He loved his mother, loved the sacrifices she had made for him, loved her for helping Harry Potter on the day of the final battle. She had been through so much, had never asked for her life to be caught up in war, for her son to pledge loyalty to the man who had robbed her of her husband those many years before. She didn't need to suffer any more. Draco wished she could remain forever unaffected by anything ugly or unpleasant. He knew it wasn't possible, but if he could do something to prevent her pain, he would do it.

What he wanted most was the normal life of someone his age. He had missed out on the extra training that most of his peers went for and hadn't even taken his N.E.W.T.s. He barely remembered the seventh year or the last half of his sixth at school. He'd been forced into the role of businessman and had learned that trade as a result. It was some comfort, he supposed, to know that he would always have a place in his father's company if he wanted it, regardless of how little he wanted it.

Yet many of the witches and wizards he had gone to school with were now married, some even had children. There had been a tremendous boom in couplings and weddings following the resolution of the war. Of all those in his house, who weren't dead or in prison, only he, Pansy, Greg, Theo and Daphne Greengrass were yet to be joined in marriage.

Pansy, because apparently, she'd been in love with him since they were teenagers and had been waiting and hoping that he would suddenly wake up and feel the same way. Greg hadn't married because he had been forced to focus on helping to provide for his family. Now he was crazy about Pansy, whom Draco didn't think would ever look at his friend as anything other than 'that guy that's always around.' Theo stayed busy with the antique shop, but had been seen with a witch every now and then. Draco had always had the suspicion that Theo preferred blokes, but was always careful to be seen just enough with women that no one thought anything of his chronically single status. Draco and Daphne had dated briefly right after the war, but the strain of his job quickly got in the way. Then she had dated Blaise Zabini for three years before she found him cheating on her. Now she was seeing a man from a powerful Dutch family.

As for Draco, he had been too busy to have time for properly courting a woman. Besides that, he had never come across anyone he would like to court. He kept himself occupied, however, and was never in want of female company. He had a list of women he could call if he needed a date for an event, and they were usually willing to attend to him afterwards.

None of it really meant anything to him, and he made sure the women knew his heart was not available. A few of them hadn't taken him seriously, had caused scenes, and he had been forced to remind them that they had been warned.

In the seven years his father was in prison, Draco had never really allowed himself to think about what he was missing. During the five days since his father's release, he had savored the idea of what life would be like after he returned the business to his father. He hadn't gotten close to making plans, and had only formed a few generic thoughts. He wanted to travel, to answer to no one, and to experience life. Draco knew his mother, especially, wanted him to find a nice witch and settle down, but his father had seemed to indicate that he could do as he pleased. It was a stark contrast from their conversation before Lucius had been sentenced.

Regardless, Draco wasn't even close to thinking about marriage. He wanted freedom before he thought about anything else.

Draco sighed, feeling tired. He glanced at the clock inside the office and saw that it was nearly one. He had to be in his office at eight the next morning, but he still wasn't motivated to go to bed. He knew he had to though, and hoped that laying there would encourage his body to respond appropriately.

He stood and closed the doors, then snuffed what was left of the candle. He picked up his book and left the study.

The moon was bright that night, and it shone through the glass of the French doors, falling on the piece of parchment that lay, still visible, on Draco's desk.

_Malfoy,_

_It's been awhile since you've heard from me. No doubt you were beginning to think __…__ what? I'd forgotten you? That I would stop? Perhaps you'd begun to imagine life without me. I simply couldn't let that happen._

_Though I no longer have your father's crimes to hold over you, I've enclosed a few snapshots that I thought would be of interest to you. Surely you don't want those pictures of mummy-dearest getting out.—What a scandal that would be!_

_Let's avoid that trouble, shall we, and continue our little __…__ arrangement. You know what I want: the usual 100,000 Galleons. Place the money in the safety deposit box as usual. If you fail, these pictures will find their way into the most appropriate hands for the job._

_I'm pleased that our association will continue. The usual curses have been placed upon this letter, forbidding you to talk, etc. _

_Until next month __…_

**ooo**

**A/N**: Thank you for reading! The plot thickens… From this point on, I hope to hear your theories on WHO is doing this to Draco. I'll be collecting names based on the responses I get in the coming 3 weeks. After I get a pool of names, I'll post a poll either on my LiveJournal or my profile, and you can vote every week about who you think the blackmailer is. I hope it'll be fun!

**A****rt Credit**: The fabulous manip for this chapter was done by lj user=pink_martini2. Isn't it amazing??


	5. Machinations

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 5 - - Machinations**

**- - -**

Draco was at the pitch before anyone on Saturday, and by hours. He was very focused as he flew in practiced routes through the air, dipping here, rolling there. He had purchased a book on the position of Chaser and had studied it dutifully over the course of the week; if he was going to play, he would be the best. He watched the world wake up from high above it, the sun slowly rose over the trees, spreading its light through the usual haze that covered the morning sky in the late summer.

Today he was on a mission, and not only to win the game. He needed to learn as much about Hermione Granger as he could, as inconspicuously as possible. A plan for what he would do once he'd won her to his side had started forming, and these Saturday meetings would be essential for ensuring her safety, as well as his.

Top on his list of 'Information to Glean' was what she did for a living, which he suspected was his best shot at finding a way he could make his proposition attractive to her. If it turned out that she did something completely uninteresting, with no hope for advancement, then he would simply offer to hire her. Of course, she could still refuse, but he didn't let himself dwell on that thought. He needed to be relaxed when he talked to Hermione, not anxious over what might go wrong.

He didn't think that she was necessarily the best choice for investigative work. Unless he was very fortunate and she happened to work for the Ministry in an information-gathering capacity, he knew she wouldn't have any particular skills for identifying suspects with insufficient evidence as a guide.

She was the most desirable choice because he trusted her, for whatever reason. His trust was not something he bestowed lightly, nor all at once. It was gained over time in increments. She, of course, was the exception. There was something about her, something about the person he knew her to be, that made her uniquely trustworthy in his mind, without having earned it.

Second on the list was learning about Charlie. If he and Hermione were seriously dating, or serious in any form of a relationship, then the plan he'd been formulating might not be possible. Their interactions had been confusing at best to define, and from the way her friends had acted the week before, none of them were quite sure what was going on between the two.

Draco had spent a considerable amount of his free time analyzing their behavior the previous week. They'd been close with each other, very familiar. She'd linked arms with him; he'd kissed the top of her head. They'd sat together at the meal, but then had barely spoken. Draco had no idea how to get the information he wanted, and so decided to focus on finding out her current employment situation first, and worry about her personal life later.

At quarter to ten, people began showing up for the game. Draco remained in the air, others joining him in warming up, until Potter and the Weasleys arrived. As Draco landed, he noticed that Charlie was not among them.

Harry seemed genuinely surprised to see him. "Hallo, Malfoy," he said. "Good to see you."

Draco nodded, glancing around the pitch. "Good to be here." Surprisingly, he meant it.

"Well, then, we should be all right."

"Where's Charlie?" Draco asked, slightly concerned that he wouldn't be able to observe him around Hermione.

"He usually doesn't come. Last week, another of our regular players couldn't make it, in addition to Bill. She'll be here today though."

George came up to him then, grinning, and clapped him on the back. "Blimey, Malfoy. I thought when you sent us out, we were done for. Thanks again, mate. Listen, if all goes according to plan, we'll be opening a shop in Paris in under two months. You'll come to the opening, won't you?"

Draco was slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "I can't say for sure, but … we'll see. Probably."

Ron and Ginny joined them then.

"Hey," said Ron, meeting Draco's eyes for an instant before looking away. "Here's Dean," he said, and then walked away.

Draco looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow.

"No bets today," said Harry.

"Ah."

"He'll come around," said George, leaning on his broom. "Reckon you haven't forgotten that pummeling we gave you during your, what, fifth year?"

Draco grinned. Finally someone mentioned the past. "Sounds right."

"Katie's here," said Ginny, looking between Draco and George and smiling. "Hi, Katie!"

Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson joined them, greeting everyone enthusiastically before finally noticing Draco. Katie's expression went murderous.

"What's _he_ doing here?" she demanded.

"He's, well, playing with us," said Harry, his tone unsure, his eyes darting between Draco and Katie.

"I refuse to play with him." She rounded on Harry. "On either team. In case you've forgotten, he nearly killed me."

Draco thought back to sixth year, of purchasing the cursed necklace from Borgin and Burkes, of having it carefully wrapped, giving it to Rosmerta and forcing her to give to the first girl who walked into the loo, commanding her to take it straight to Dumbledore. It had been a terrible plan, but he'd been desperate. He remembered sitting on his bed after news of the incident had spread, with his arms wrapped around his knees, pulling them as close to his chest as he could. He'd sat on his bed with the curtains drawn and rocked back and forth, thanking any and all deities he could think of that the girl hadn't died.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco cut him off.

"It's all right, Potter. She was here before me. Nice seeing you all again," he said, indicating George and Ginny, then started walking toward the woods.

"Malfoy," called HarryGinny.

Draco turned around. "What?"

"We're having lunch at a nearby pub, so stick around."

"Will … er, Bell be joining you? I probably shouldn't, if she is."

"No. It's just us."

Though she didn't elaborate, he knew she meant herself, Harry, and all of the Weasleys. And now, him, as well, at least that day.

"All right," said Draco. He waited until everyone was in the air, watching with mixed emotion. He was disappointed not to be playing, something he had been greatly looking forward to. On the other hand, if Hermione was there, as she had been the last time, he would have the entire game to talk to her.

As he neared the woods, he hoped that the scene from the last week would be repeated. Finally he saw it, the hideous orange two-seater sofa, sitting partly in the sun, partly in shade. Most importantly, Hermione was reclining on it, already absorbed in what she was reading.

He felt a slight tugging in his heart at seeing her. She wasn't wearing the white sundress that had so undone him the week prior. Instead she wore a chartreuse green skirt, white top with thin straps, and a light yellow jumper. Once again, a pair of sandals sat on the ground beside the sofa. She looked amazing.

Hermione looked up when Draco approached and slightly tilted her head to the side. When he stopped in front of the sofa, she shifted to make room for him to sit.

He did after removing his Quidditch gear, leaving him in black pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. "What are you reading?" he asked, getting comfortable.

"Nothing that would interest you, I'm sure," she replied, glancing at him from behind her reading material.

Draco examined the cover closely. "_Journal of Botanics_. What's that?"

She put the journal in her lap. "It's a scholarly journal, Malfoy. Researchers perform experiments, and publish their findings in journals."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, but lost. "I know that. What is that specific journal about?"

"Oh," she said, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. "It's all about the different potions ingredients that come from plants."

"Fascinating," he said, grinning. "Which article in particular are you reading?"

She looked at him strangely, as though she wasn't sure what to think of his behavior. "'Biological and analytical characterization and known and theorized uses of six extracts from asphodel.'"

His eyes widened in surprise. "Asphodel? You planning on offing anyone, Granger?" The powdered root of the asphodel plant was a main ingredient in the Draught of Living Death. More than that, Draco knew it had uses in Dark Magic, especially potions dealing with death and the places between life and death.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, turning her body slightly, as though preparing to launch into a detailed explanation. She started, paused, and then changed the subject. "It's for some personal research. Why aren't you playing?"

He leaned back, propped one leg up on the other, pushed up his sleeves—the right higher than the left—and put his arm on the back of the sofa. If he reached just a few inches, he could touch her shoulder. "Difference of opinion. Someone didn't care for the fact that I was nearly responsible for her death, and refused to have any association with me whatsoever, including Quidditch. I bowed out."

Hermione gave him a stern look. "You speak of it so flippantly."

"Not at all," he said, meeting her gaze. "I know what I've done and I accept the consequences. I do not take lightly others' injuries when I have been the direct cause. But the pitch is hardly the place to make a proper apology, and as we have already discussed, a mere 'I'm sorry' doesn't mean sod all."

"True, but what you did to her goes beyond the natural way of children as well, don't you agree?" Hermione's tone was gently but insistent; she wasn't going to let him talk his way out of this.

"I didn't target her; she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"So you aren't going to give her a heartfelt confession of the kind you gave me?"

She was baiting him, testing him. It was the first test in a long time that he had to pass. If he really wanted Hermione's help, he would have to follow through with whatever he said he would do. "If the opportunity presents," he said, wiping a few leaves off the cushion between them to avoid meeting her eyes.

"I hope you do," she said.

Her voice was so soft, so gentle, that he looked back to her. She'd returned to reading her article.

"Tell me, Granger. What do you do?"

Again she set the journal on her lap and gazed at him quizzically. "I'm a teacher. I work at Hogwarts."

"What do you teach?"

"Why so interested?"

He chuckled, rapping his hand on his knee. "I'm stuck waiting for this game to end. This sofa is the most comfortable place to sit, and you happen to be sitting here. I would prefer not to sit in absolute silence, but if that's what you wish, you have but to say the word."

"Oh. I … I suppose I'm not quite sure how to take you, not knowing you all that well," she said, closing the journal and putting it away entirely. "I teach Arithmancy."

"That was one of your favorites, as I recall," he said. He silently cursed his fate; Arithmancy was a fascinating field, but not one that opened many doors for him.

"It was my very favorite, actually. You were quite adept at it as well. Remember in fifth year when we found out we'd been working together and didn't know it?"

"That ridiculous assignment!" he said, angling himself toward her on the sofa. All the students had been required to submit a theorem, which the teacher then paired up and assigned anonymous partners to work on combining the theorems. They were supposed to work separately, submit their results, and then work together to find the best solution.

When their names were announced in conjunction, they'd glared at each other. When they were told to move closer to work on their assignment, Draco abjectly refused. He didn't budge an inch. He got detention, and Hermione ended up doing all the work.

"I have yet to inflict any such misfortune on my students," she said with a smile. "I can't believe you did detention to avoid working with me."

"It seemed the better alternative," he said.

"You're hopeless," she said, shaking her head.

"I _was_, certainly. I'd like to think I'm not so much anymore." She didn't speak, just stared at the ground. "How long have you been at Hogwarts?"

"This will be my third year of teaching."

"Right, it's nearly time to go back, isn't it?"

"Yes. I've got a week left."

Draco nodded, thoughtful. He'd succeeded in learning what she did, but he still had no idea what he might tempt her with. He doubted a lifetime subscription to _Arithmancy Today_ would get him what he wanted, though the possibility still existed for offering to pay her. Surely he could offer her more than she made at Hogwarts, and she wouldn't even have to leave her position.

"I know what Weasley does for a living. What about Potter? Weasley's sister?"

"That was really wonderful what you did for Ron and George. They were so excited that night after meeting with you … I suppose it was the same day we reached for the same bottle in the Apothecary. They took us all out to a nice restaurant in Diagon Alley to celebrate."

He shrugged. "It was business. Anything connected with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes turns to gold; I was always going to approve their request, I just wanted to have a little fun with them first. Make them sweat."

She swatted him on the arm. "You're terrible."

"Thank you."

"Harry teaches at Hogwarts as well."

"Really?" Draco sat a little straighter. "That is surprising. I figured he would be in the business of saving things … people, cats, blighted neighborhoods, that sort of thing."

"In a way, that's how he sees his work. He's very passionate about teaching and the students always love his classes."

"What does he teach?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Draco groaned. "You're joking."

"I'm not. He's excellent. Got a bit of the bug during fifth year with the D.A."

"That little practice group you were in?"

"Yes. It was a wonderful group, we learned a lot from Harry. Plus, it was great doing everything behind Umbridge's back." She sounded triumphant.

Draco was intrigued, but he still hadn't learned anything of use to him. He glanced at the journal and then at her. Botanics had nothing to do with Arithmancy. "What did you do before Hogwarts, then?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?" she asked.

"I talk a lot when I'm bored. You just happen to be here."

She sighed. "I started out in Healer training, but it wasn't long before I realized that wasn't what I wanted to do. However, while I was at St. Mungo's, I got a part-time position in a research lab."

"At the hospital?" he said, his heart thumping a bit louder than before. This was promising.

"Yes. The grant I was hired under was designed to do research on the side effects of various potions thought to be harmless. It wasn't very interesting work, but I learned a lot."

Draco listened intently. There was a fire in her eyes that hadn't been there before and he was completely captivated by her.

"After I quit the Healer program, I continued working in labs, under various researchers and grants, while I got my teaching credentials. Most of the grants lasted six to nine months, and then it was time for more job-hunting. I still participate in studies, as I can. Summers are very busy for me, as I try to get a lot accomplished in a short amount of time."

"I see. So research is your main passion, like Potter's is teaching?"

It was nearly imperceptible, and had he not been studying her so meticulously, he might have missed her split-second glance at his mouth when he said the word 'passion.' A wave of warmth passed through him and he settled back into the sofa, putting a little more space between them.

Then she bit her lip and looked away. "I love teaching, nearly as much. But if I had to choose one, it would be research. Minerva has given me the use of one of the old lab rooms in the dungeon for personal work."

That caught his attention and he forgot all about her glance. "You? In the dungeon?" In his time at Hogwarts, a Muggle-born in the dungeons for any reason other than Potions class was trouble. At the least, the Muggle-born would be teased, ridiculed, and lightly hexed for venturing too far out of bounds. "How do you manage that?"

"Quite well," she said, jutting her chin out proudly.

"Do they … treat you well?" he asked, referring to those in his former house.

"They'd better," she said. "As I'm their Head of House."

He stared at her now in incredulity. Surely he had heard wrong. "You … you're what?"

"Head of Slytherin house, yes."

Draco shook his head in disbelief. "You're going to have to explain this to me. I'm completely at a loss for what to say."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Things at Hogwarts are very different than they were when we were in school. The four houses still exist, but Minerva has given the Sorting Hat a little … wiggle room, for assigning students to houses. The houses are encouraged to inter-mingle, and frequently do so."

"Even Slytherin?"

"Yes, though naturally they were the most reluctant to comply. Tolerance is the big word on campus."

Draco scowled. "I've heard enough of that word to last a lifetime, thanks."

"There's nothing wrong with tolerance," she said, bristling.

"Don't get me wrong," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I've nothing against it, per se, but you've got to admit, the word has been tossed around quite liberally, of late. You can do almost anything in the name of tolerance. Including beating up another kid because they weren't being tolerant."

"Oh!" she gasped. "I read about that! What a terrible thing to happen. Completely undermines what the Ministry is trying to do."

"The Ministry can't change people's hearts and minds, though," he said.

"No, but it can at least pass laws that make things more equal," she said. "If you and I had gone to Gringotts ten years ago to apply for separate loans, one look at you and they would have approved you without question. Whereas I would have had to fill out all the paperwork, provide proof of income, residency, and who knows what other bureaucratic nonsense. Now, we both have to go through the same process."

"I am well aware of these … changes," he said. "I deal with them on a daily basis in my work."

They looked at each other, and it occurred to Draco that they were from completely opposite backgrounds, opposite lives, opposing sides of the war. While he felt 'tolerance' was being forced down his throat, she was probably a strong advocate for it. He wasn't against the concept, just the way the Ministry was going about it. Tolerance wasn't something to be forced down the throat of the intolerant. It was something that had to be learned through life experience. Draco had long ago learned that he was in no position to say who deserved what. And he'd lived a happier life for it.

Still, it was clearly a different world they were in now, as they could sit and talk amiably about a subject they didn't quite see eye to eye on.

"What do you do?" she asked.

He was grateful for the change in subject, and pleased that neither of them had resorted to name calling or curses.

"I run the family business."

She watched him, waiting for him to continue, but he wasn't going to reveal any details.

"Oh," she finally said.

She looked down at her lap, and he felt a tweak of regret. "I work, Granger. I go to meetings, I answer letters, and I keep up with the ledger, keep people happy … nothing exciting."

"I know that much, Malfoy. What is your family business?" She paused, frowning slightly. "Or is that something you'd rather not talk about?"

Then a ding went off in his mind and he couldn't put a logical reason behind it, but he wanted to tell her more. In general, Draco didn't discuss the details of Malfoy, Inc. He worked, hard, end of story. The business was so diverse that very few people knew all the different economic ventures in which his family's company was involved.

When the task of running the company was unceremoniously dumped into Draco's lap at the age of eighteen, he had no idea what his father did. It took three months to learn the extent of the company, and one segment in particular had been quite a shock.

Lucius had invested in Muggle telecommunications.

His father, Death Eater, Muggle-hater extraordinaire, did business with Muggles. Draco had no doubt that his father never once spoke to or saw any of the Muggles in his employ, but somehow, had managed to make things work. When Draco took over, he ventured into the Muggle world to meet with all the executives he now worked with and over the years had come to appreciate certain aspects of Muggle culture, and to validate in his mind their right to exist.

It sounded trite when he thought about it, but the admission was enormous considering his father had frequently talked of wishing the whole lot would fall into the center of the earth.

"It's all right," she said, having taken his extended silence for confirmation. "We can talk about something else."

"It's not that I have anything to hide," he said. "I simply make it a practice not to discuss details. It's terribly boring, anyway."

Hermione nodded and repositioned herself on the sofa. In doing so, she accidentally brushed his arm, causing the fine hairs to stand on end and his heart to skip. He frowned, annoyed by his reaction to her. Whenever he had thought of her in the past week, he pictured her in that white dress, the wind in her hair, the sun making it shimmer, and the serenity he found in her expression. He couldn't get the image out of his mind; it was safe to say he was attracted to her. Ridiculously so, judging from his body's reactions.

"You're really head of Slytherin?" he asked, wanting to move the conversation back in line with his agenda. Draco retracted his arm and folded both against his chest.

She smiled. "Yes, Malfoy, I really am."

"They treat you all right?"

"They do. They have to, really, or I take off points. They're all very respectful to my face, some clearly grudgingly, though I would be a fool to think none of them talked when I'm not around."

"If they're anything like the bunch I was with ... You're pretty lucky not to get any flack."

"These kids ... are different than we were. Our years at Hogwarts were spent leading up to the war. These kids, especially the younger ones, went through the war long before Hogwarts. They've grown up in the post-war era. This coming year, there won't be any students left who had been at Hogwarts when we were. Or, rather, when you were. Last year's seventh-years were first-years during what would have been my seventh year."

Draco scoffed. "If you can consider that school."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what they taught us? In Muggle Studies especially?"

"I've heard," she said.

"Rubbish. Even I knew that. Of course, I was so busy trying not to make anyone notice me or get upset with me ...."

"Was it awful at school? I guess I've always thought you had it pretty easy, considering."

"Yeah, easy enough." He paused, unsure how much he should—or could—say. He never talked about that year, preferring to ignore it as much as his mind would let him. Her easy, open manner was strangely liberating.

"But I didn't like where I was," he continued, picking at a spot on the sofa. "I wanted nothing to do with the lot of them by then. I wasn't accepted fully anyway because of my failed task. I knew the other side—your side—wouldn't welcome me, either. I stuck to my studies, the library, and my room. Kept quiet. Said the right things, tried not to draw attention."

She didn't say anything, just closed her eyes as the wind blew through her hair. He was so close ... he could touch it if he really wanted, could see if it felt as soft as it looked.

"So I reckon Potter's head of Gryffindor, eh?"

"No, actually. Blaise Zabini."

Draco's eyes widened. "You're not serious! Should I go and try to get the Hufflepuff job, then?" he said, joking.

Hermione snickered. "That would be awful, Malfoy! You'd scare them to death!"

He frowned. "What? Why? I'm not scary."

"You are scary," she said, a delightful grin on her face. "Very scary."

"Yeah?" He chuckled. "Still? After everything … I don't want to be, you know."

"Maybe you shouldn't walk around looking so sour all the time." Hermione's eyes glimmered with amusement. "You know, smile occasionally."

"If you only knew," he said, weariness constricting his chest, making him feel too old again. He rarely smiled from his heart and couldn't remember the last time a conversation or interaction had even tempted the sour expression from his face.

Hermione's grin turned to look of concern. "What do you mean?"

Draco shook his head and tried to give her a careless smile. He had no intention of ruining their conversation with talk of his troubles. "Never mind. Where's Charlie today? I was looking forward to talking with him." It wasn't entirely a lie; Charlie had been the one Weasley Draco had most enjoyed interacting with the previous week. Truthfully, he also needed to make headway on the second point on his list.

"Oh, he's not usually here. Last weekend was a fluke, really. See, usually, it's Harry, Ron, George, Katie, Bill, Dean and Ginny. We've known about Bill leaving for awhile, so Harry got Angelina to play for him. Then Katie told him that she and Angelina had a thing to do last week, so Harry asked Charlie to play, since he was in town." Hermione paused. "I guess they didn't need you this week after all."

Draco shook his head. "I appreciate the invitation, though. So Charlie spends most of his time in … Romania, is it?"

She nodded. "He said you were, and I quote, 'decent enough.'"

"Ah," he replied, mindlessly scratching the arm that had at one time borne the Dark Mark. Now it was a scar in the rough outline of the Mark, as though the magic that had been imbedded beneath his flesh ran so deep that even though the Mark had faded with Voldemort's demise, the skin would never heal properly.

But Charlie and Hermione had discussed him after he left. He felt a mild annoyance with the Weasley before realizing that the entire table might have talked about him, and she had only repeated Charlie's comment because he was the subject of conversation.

"I'll bet the conversation erupted after my departure," he said.

"It did, but then Molly told everyone to stop. George was undecided about you until that presentation he did, Charlie never had anything specific against you in the first place, and Ginny is inclined to give you a chance. Ron … he's still hesitant."

"Not surprising," Draco muttered, more to himself than to her.

"You can't really blame him, can you?" she asked.

"What about you?" He met her eyes.

"Me? I … Well, I'm all right with you being around." She held his gaze, not flinching or giving any indication she was lying.

He exhaled and turned his attention to the game. "How long do these things last, anyway? I didn't notice how long last week's game went."

"A couple of hours, usually."

Draco sighed heavily.

"If you want, I can let you know when they're done," said Hermione.

"How?" he asked, knowing he wasn't going to move off that sofa until she did.

"Have you got two Galleons?"

He looked at her incredulously. "Oh, no. Not doing that."

"What?" she said.

"You'll Charm the coins and mine will get warm when you tap yours with your wand. I want no part of that. I used that, you know."

She grinned. "I know."

He stared at her, momentarily rendered speechless, and then allowed her a strained smile. "You speak of it so flippantly."

Her expression was unreadable. "Guess we aren't to the point where we can joke about our tragic pasts together?"

Draco didn't know what to think of that. She was watching him; her eyes alight with mirth and peace. He didn't think they were at that point yet, but he was starting to like the idea of getting to it.

Not wanting to lie or reveal too much of his emotions, he ignored her question. "Tell me about your current project," he said, an amiable smile on his face.

**ooo**

They talked easily. Hermione was happy to talk nearly non-stop about her research. She went into great detail, including her most recent—accidental—discovery involving the Felix Felicis Potion. When a counter-clockwise turn was added after every seventh clockwise, the reckless component of consuming too much of the Potion was diminished by 35%.

"It hardly seems important," she said. "And I certainly don't condone the use of the Potion in many instances, but it can have its place in specific situations."

Most importantly, he learned that she was interested in Potions to counter the effects of the Cruciatus curse. She mentioned it in passing, quickly, while going through a list of past and other current interests, but he thought he caught a slightly strangled undertone to her voice when she spoke the curse's name. He filed it away for future reference.

When two hours had passed and the game was still going, Draco considered leaving. His mind was racing with additions to his list; he had research of his own to do now. However, he had given his word to attend lunch and refused to back out. He was about to suggest that they go ahead and get a table when a cheer went up from the game. Potter was victorious once again.

"Does he ever lose?" Draco muttered.

"Nope," Hermione answered, leaning over to put on her shoes.

The two of them stood and Hermione shrunk the sofa and her journal, putting them both into a two-compartment bag that he hadn't noticed before. He had seen similar bags many times; one compartment was magicked to hold far more than the physical space allowed, and the other compartment was non-magical, for things the carrier didn't want to shrink, such as money or certain non-shrinkable purchases.

"So," Draco said, the reality of what he was about to do sinking in. "A pub?"

"Typically, we go somewhere after the games, usually the pub in the nearby village. Today's the last game, since Harry leaves for Hogwarts next week. They just play in the summer."

Hermione didn't go out to meet the approaching players, as she had done the week before. Draco suspected it was because Charlie wasn't there and he felt an odd rumbling of discontent at the thought. Soon, excited voices could be heard, and then everyone came into view.

Ron glanced at Draco and Hermione, and then gave a slight frown before returning to his conversation with George. Katie, Dean and Angelina must have gone another way because they weren't with the red-headed bunch.

"What was the score?" Hermione asked once everyone had joined her and Draco.

"Who cares?" said George with a giant smile. "We won! More importantly, we're hungry. Let's be going, shall we?"

"Ever been to Trafford, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "It's near Manchester."

"It's got a small wizarding section, if I'm not mistaken," he said.

"Right. There's a pub there, The Bird I' th' Hand. That's where we're going. The owner is related to Arthur's second cousin's nephew. Nice bloke."

"I've never heard of it," Draco remarked, knowing that he would be required to Side-Along Apparate with someone.

"You can come with me," said Harry, letting go of Ginny's hand.

"Wonderful," Draco muttered under his breath.

Hermione heard him and smiled.

Not ten minutes later, the six of them were seated around a table in the pub, their first round of drinks before them. They looked at their menus, speaking only to point out something, or to say how much they had enjoyed a particular dish on their last visit.

Draco knew that his presence was hindering what was typically a warm, friendly meal between friends. Now they were all concerned about what to say to him, and in his presence. Hermione, who was seated beside him, recommended the fish and chips. George, on his other side, told him he couldn't go wrong with the kippers. He didn't care either way and wasn't especially hungry anymore.

The waitress came and he went with Hermione's suggestion. When they no longer had their menus to hide behind, it quickly became apparent that the entire meal would be interesting, to say the least. Ron wouldn't look at him, Ginny constantly frowned at him, and George started talking to no one in particular about opening the shop in Paris.

"Ron and I went to Paris yesterday and looked around. The Place de Magie has a few empty business and we've put down a contract on two side-by-side shops, with the idea of making them into one."

"That sounds lovely, George," said Hermione. "Have you decided what you'll do about getting someone to run the shop?"

"Not yet. Though Fleur might be interested."

Ginny snickered and exchanged a look with Hermione. "You'd let her? Aren't you worried she'll be so busy making sure her hair is in place that she won't notice the customers?"

"Fleur is a very intelligent witch," said Harry.

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"She is! There's no way she would have been chosen by the Goblet of Fire if she weren't."

"She and Bill live in Paris already," continued George. "You know Fleur, she isn't … well, she's not like mum. Doesn't like sitting around the house all day. She's excited about working at the shop. We're going to set up a small room in back where the kids can play until they're old enough to go to school."

"So it's decided then?" Hermione asked.

"Nearly," said Ron. "Gabrielle might help her out. She's just finished her schooling and Fleur wants her close by."

"Two people sounds like enough," said Harry.

"Right. We've got just two employees at a few of the shops."

"But this is Paris," said Ginny. "It's no Trafford, or even Hogsmeade. Paris is nearly as large as London. I think you'll need at least one, perhaps two more people."

The food arrived then and Ron grinned at his place. "Tuck in, all," he said and then went to work on his meal of shepherd's pie.

"Have you been to Paris … Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

He glanced up, surprised at being addressed, then nodded. "Quite a few times. My mother goes at least once a year, and occasionally I accompany her."

"It's beautiful," Ginny continued.

Draco was aware of the fact that Harry and Ron were watching him intently and he remembered that Hermione had said Ron was still getting used the idea of being in the same room with him. He suspected she was being too nice; Ron didn't appear to want anything to do with him. Not that Draco could blame him.

"Quite," Draco replied. "Especially in the spring. Fall is nice as well, and will make for a pleasant backdrop for the opening of the shop." He hoped that conversation would return to the endeavor, and he could spend the rest of the meal as unnoticed as possible.

"What's your favorite part?" Ginny asked.

He bit back an impatient sigh. "Le Tour Eiffel. There's something about it that I can't quite explain."

"It was built by Muggles," said Ron, his tone accusing, as though he wanted to catch Draco in a lie or ruin his enjoyment of the monument.

"I am aware of that," he said, amused. Whenever he visited the City of Light with his mother, he would escort her around a few shops, then excuse himself and go for a walk along the river until he reached the Tower. What he did next varied. Sometimes he took a newly purchased book and sat on a bench with a good view of the monument. Other times, he took the lift up to the very top and admired the incredible sights before him. A few times he had ordered a coffee and a pastry in the café and slowly ate his snack while watching the sun set.

Ron scowled and looked away. Conversation halted for a few moments.

Then Hermione addressed Harry. "Are you ready for the new school year to start?"

"Mostly. I need to get to Diagon Alley for a few last-minute supplies, but I'll be ready to leave for Hogsmeade on Tuesday. I know you've been ready for weeks, haven't you?" He grinned at her.

"As a matter of fact," she glanced at Draco then. "I was short on one item and wasn't sure I would be able to get it on time, but a special delivery arrived just yesterday."

"Short, as in, you only had two full bottles instead of three?" said Ron, chuckling.

Hermione gave him a hard stare. "Very funny, Ron."

"So, Malfoy," said Ron. "What's it like having your dad back? Just like old times?"

Ginny smacked the back of Ron's head and Hermione kicked him under the table, but Ron continued to stare directly at Draco.

Draco thought very carefully about what he was going to say. Certainly he owed these people nothing. They had and always would believe what they wanted to believe, and he didn't think telling them otherwise would do any good. He also knew that this was some kind of test, though he didn't know how to get the right answer, or even if there was one. Naturally, his first inclination was to say something snide to rile Weasley further, but that would only turn the outing sour while accomplishing nothing other than showing the red-head exactly what he wanted to see: Draco hadn't changed.

So Draco took a long drink from his glass before speaking. "My father and mother are on holiday at present. He won't return for at least seven weeks. Perhaps at that point I will be better able to answer your question."

Harry let out a breath.

"Couldn't wait to get out of the house, I reckon," said Ron. "Can't really say as I blame him."

"That's enough, Ron," said George with an air of authority. "Malfoy hasn't done anything to you—"

"You're right. It was bad form." Ron was still glaring at Draco as though he might suddenly attack them all. "Just a matter of time, really."

Draco was nearly fed up and he considered leaving. The only thing that kept him from going was the knowledge that it was exactly what Weasley wanted. Neither he nor Ron spoke again during the meal, only sending glares at each other while the others tried to ignore them and continue eating in peace.

**ooo**

After the meal, Draco had left quickly. He Apparated home, angry at himself for letting Weasley get to him. He hadn't retaliated, despite wanting to, because it wasn't worth his time or energy. Plus, it was exactly what Weasley had wanted, and Draco rarely allowed himself to react. He preferred being proactive, and a few words from him weren't going to change Weasley's mind about him, so why should he bother? If it weren't for his plan, what he needed from Hermione, he wouldn't have even gone out to Quidditch that day, no matter how much he enjoyed playing.

Still, it would have been nice to actually _play_.

Draco sighed as he removed his still fresh Quidditch gear, tossed it into the closet, and slammed the door shut. He pulled off his T-shirt on his way to the bathroom, where he turned the hot water on full force. Then he caught sight of his reflection and paused, grimacing at the scars that splayed across his chest.

The largest and most prominent was—ironically—a lightning shaped slash that began just under his right collar bone, then went across his chest to the left ribcage, cut back horizontally along the base of his ribs, before slicing downward to disappear underneath his trousers. He hadn't even known what curse Potter had used until Severus had explained it in the hospital wing. It was a Dark curse, and as such, would never disappear, nor would it heal properly.

There were scars on his back, he knew, from Amycus Carrow, who hadn't been pleased when Draco had hesitated when commanded to use the Cruciatus on a schoolmate. Amycus had struck him just once with a scourge, but it had been enough. He'd never hesitated again, though he saw the faces of the people he hurt in his nightmares.

He also bore a scar on his left arm from the remnants of the Mark, and one on his right cheek, where Bellatrix had backhanded him, and her ring had gouged his face. He was most proud of that scar, for he had actually stood up to his aunt, refused to do something she had demanded. Bellatrix had been about to turn her wand on him, but Narcissa had intervened.

Another scar, which ran from his right groin to his left thigh, barely missing anything vital, had been another punishment from the Dark Lord. He'd been so angry at Lucius when Potter, Weasley and Granger had escaped that he had intended to end the Malfoy line forever. Draco shuddered at what had almost been.

As he stood under the steady stream of water, he thought about his scars. They were all indications of the life he had chosen and then wanted to escape, but couldn't. They weren't battle scars that he could look at and know that good had come from the slices he had incurred. The lightning scar told of his shame at being caught sodding crying in the bathroom. The scourge marks told him that he'd been too cowardly to stand up to the Carrows, reminded him of the people he could no longer look in the eye. The hidden scar showed him what lunacy was capable of, and his mauled arm served as a constant remembrance that he had willfully given his life up to obtain an elusive power that had nearly ended it.

He wondered if Weasley had any scars or blemishes that told tales of his efforts to rid the world of the madness that was the Dark Lord. He thought about the fact that Katie Bell hadn't been the only one who had nearly died because of him. Perhaps Weasley was more like Hermione than he had previously considered, and he couldn't simply call it all 'being children.' The thought, however, of apologizing to the red-haired git was nauseating. Hermione … she was sensible, understanding, and he had known she would listen to him. Not so with Weasley, who might be almost as stuck in his ways as Draco had been.

Draco sighed and shut off the water. He dried himself and dressed in comfortable trousers and a shirt underneath a set of fine, black robes. He had been invited to the Goyles' for dinner, but he had an entire afternoon before him that he didn't want to waste. The sooner he gained more information about Hermione, the sooner he could approach her about his problem.

From the fireplace in his room, Draco Floo-called Blaise Zabini. They had never been especially close in school and still weren't, but Draco had made sure to hold on to favors due him for when they could be used to best advantage.

It took a few moments for Blaise to appear and he was started when he saw Draco's face in his fire.

"Draco," he said, kneeling down in front of the hearth. "You never call."

"Not usually, no. I need a favor."

Zabini paled slightly and nodded, his eyes darting around the room. "What exactly do you want?"

"It's about Granger. I know you work together at Hogwarts."

"Hermione?" Zabini frowned. "What could you possibly want that has to do with her?"

"I need information."

"What kind of information?"

Draco told him and Zabini agreed to find what he could. Next up was a call to Merilyn Flinchberg, who was in charge of the largest lab under Malfoy direction, to inquire about space, equipment costs, and general questions as to how a research lab worked. Last call of the day was for Caleb, Draco's secretary.

"You know I don't generally bother you on the weekend," said Draco when Caleb appeared with a quill and parchment at the ready. "This is a request of a personal nature."

"Do you need an escort for the evening?" Caleb asked immediately, reaching for a small, thin black book he used for such occasions.

"No," Draco snapped. "I would like you to find me a list of any and all articles published by Hermione Granger, be she the top researcher or the woman who cleaned the cauldrons. If her name is in the article, I want to know about it. They'd be in Potions journals, most likely, but I want you to check everything."

"All right, sir. Would you like copies of the articles as well?"

"Yes. Two copies of each. Also, contact Sophia Bernard in the Office of Publications, see if there have been any submissions by Hermione Granger that have not been approved."

Caleb nodded, scribbling furiously. "Isn't Hermione Granger that friend of Harry Potter's?"

"Yes," Draco replied curtly.

"When do you want me to start?" Caleb asked.

Draco could see the man's eyes pleading that it not be that minute, and preferably not the rest of the weekend. Draco sighed. He was impatient and eager for the information, but he wasn't heartless, contrary to what some people might think.

"Take Monday off to work on this," Draco said finally.

"Do you want me to call Leslie in?"

Leslie Patterson had once been Draco's secondary assistant, the person he called whenever Caleb couldn't come in for work. On the last occasion, however, she had done more than provide work-related services, and Draco didn't want her to think he was interested in repeating the experience.

"No. I'll take care of it," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I'll have this to you first thing Tuesday morning."

"Good. Enjoy your weekend, Caleb."

He terminated the connection and went to his favorite armchair. His spirits were higher than he could remember them being … ever. He was finally doing something, and he admitted that he should have tried much sooner. However he felt strangely confident that he would be successful, especially with Hermione at his side.

**ooo**

Three nights later, Draco sat at his desk with his dinner plate barely touched and a glass of wine, half full. His eyes were closed as he sat in meditation, a technique he had learned a few years before to try and help him relax.

To the left of his plate sat a stack of journals, many with slips of parchment sticking out, marking certain articles. Somewhere in the stack was a letter from Blaise that listed all the journals Hermione subscribed to. As soon as Draco received it, he'd ordered back issues for the last five years and started reading, searching for anything related to asphodel and then anything related to those articles. He had a hunch as to what she was researching, based on what he knew about Hermione, but it was only a hunch. A gut feeling. However, Draco had learned to trust certain gut feelings, and this was one of them.

Sitting to the right of his plate was a stack of mail, atop which sat a colorful postcard from Pansy. She was in Fiji, staying at the luxury resort on Yasawa Island. The idyllic setting was agreeing with her, and she claimed she might never leave. Draco knew not to take her seriously, but he was glad to know she was enjoying herself.

She also swore that she was staying away from men and focusing on herself, which Draco had a very hard time believing based on her history. Pansy's _Modus Operandus_ whenever she went on vacation was to find a resort and find a man, not necessarily in that order.

Draco hoped she was being sincere. He wanted her to return when she was ready, with a new outlook on life and relationships with men. He wanted her to know that there were men who could see past her haute couture wardrobe and latest hairstyle, who could peer through the layers of external and see her for who she really was.

Greg came to mind, of course, but Draco wasn't sure Pansy would ever look at him differently. In their world, she had her place, he had his, and as far as she was concerned, they'd never intersect in any meaningful way.

The fire popped and Draco adjusted his position , folding his hands in his lap and taking a deep breath.

One of the articles mentioned that in ancient wizarding mythology, there was rumor of escaping the Asphodel Fields, the place where indifferent souls went after death, through volcanic activity. If one could break out of the monotony of daily life in the Fields, he could seek the base of a volcano and hope for an eruption, which would return his soul to the living world where he could try again.

The mention of asphodel, the same thing Hermione had been reading about at the match, stuck in his mind. There were volcanoes all over the world, but more specifically, in Fiji. Where Pansy was. Perhaps he could collect a few samples of volcanic ash for study, to see if there was any truth in the mythology—as was often the case. Maybe there was something about the volcanic activity, specifically, that worked with the asphodel to achieve the desired end.

Only Draco certainly couldn't leave the business to go island hopping in the South Pacific. He would have to send someone—who better than his closest friend, whom he trusted more than anyone with the task?

He would tell Greg that Pansy was there and leave it at that. Who knew what might happen if they met up in a different corner of the world?

**ooo**

**A/N:** Thank you for reading!! The Asphodel Fields are from Greek Mythology [Check wikipedia for more information], and since asphodel is used in the Draught of Living Death and is associated with the afterlife and the underworld [Reference: hp-lexicon], I combined the two to create my own mythology.

Thanks as always to my wonderful betas: manda, z, pokeystar, & drcjsnider. Thanks to inadaze22 for the playlist!

**Art credit**: This chapter's awesome art was done by the very talented melia_eothria.


	6. Conversations with Other People

**Notes:** First, I apologize that this chapter is so late. It's been giving me fits from the beginning of the story. As you'll quickly see, this chapter is much shorter than those preceding it. Nothing for it. Since this chapter was completed quite last minute, there isn't any accompanying art. Thank you for your patience and understanding. See you next week!

**- - -**

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 6**** - - Conversations with Other People**

**- - -**

The first day of term was one of the most exciting days of the year for Hermione. It was a fresh start, a new beginning, a blank slate. She would meet her new students, those third-years who chose Arithmancy as a desired course of study.

Hermione's first day was a light one, and she was grateful for it. A double period with her sixth-year students followed by an hour of planning, then lunch, followed by one hour each with her third and fourth year students.

"Morning, Harry," said Hermione, sitting beside him at the staff table. She loved the view of the Great Hall from that vantage: seeing all the students, making new friends, getting reacquainted with old, preparing for a new year.

"Hey, Hermione," he said brightly, smiling as he chewed his kippers. Harry rarely ate the first meal at Hogwarts, preferring instead to eat with his family at their home in Ottery St. Catchpole. The first day of term, he was required to be available to any student wishing to discuss schedules or extra sessions.

"When's your first class?" She loaded her plate with a sensible selection and took a bite.

"Right after this," he replied. "You?"

"I've got until nine," she stated. "This is one of my favorite parts of the school year—handing out schedules."

"Except we have to practically shove our food down our throats," said Harry lightly, picking up his glass of orange juice. "Cheers."

Someone sat on Hermione's other side, and she turned to greet the newcomer. "Hello, Blaise," she said with a smile.

He returned the smile. "Morning, Hermione. Would you pass the rolls?"

She obliged and returned to Harry. "How's James doing? Still getting into everything?"

Harry nodded emphatically. "He's learned how to open doors and drawers. It's giving Ginny fits."

"Aren't they locked?" Hermione asked. "Magically?"

"Yeah, that's the thing. If James really wants to, he can get the lock open. Course he usually destroys the door in the process." Harry chuckled. "Takes after his mum a bit with that temper."

"Have you considered a dampening field?" Blaise interjected. "Something to temper his magical outbursts."

"Ginny's looking into it," Harry replied. "Weasley's sells a few types of specialized shields, though I doubt they've done anything targeted for toddlers."

"They really should," said Hermione. "Especially with George's wife expecting."

Harry plucked a roll from the basket. "Knowing him, he's probably already got a line in the works."

"How does your day look, Blaise?" Hermione asked.

Blaise Zabini taught Muggle Studies and was a casual friend of Hermione's. He'd been teaching at Hogwarts two years longer than her and had voluntarily shown her and Harry the ropes when they'd joined the staff at the same time. He'd been one of the few Slytherins that had never openly harassed them in school and was likable. He was smart, funny, and had a fantastic French-African accent.

They often talked about school, their subjects, and their students, but the conversation rarely turned personal. She doubted they'd ever be very close, but she knew if she ever needed help with anything at the school, Blaise would be there for her, and she for him.

After he told her his schedule, Blaise leaned closer. "I was wondering if we could discuss a few ideas I've had for fostering good will between our houses."

Hermione hesitated, surprised by the request. It wasn't strange for him to want to talk about their houses, but the way he asked was a little … off. "Um, sure. Maybe tonight before dinner?"

Blaise nodded. "Let's meet in your rooms. Mine are still a mess."

"Okay," she said. "That'll be great."

**ooo**

"So, to review. Who can tell me the three basic principles of Arithmancy?" Hermione asked, her eyes sweeping over the class of third-year students—and first-year Arithmancy students.

A dozen pairs of eyes flicked to the chalk board, only to discover that Hermione had erased the list when they weren't paying attention. A few of them looked panicked, a few bored, and the rest began flipping through the book to find the answer.

She always enjoyed the fall term with the third-years as they began to grasp the basic concepts of Arithmancy. She looked for those students who, like she had, might develop a special interest in the subject.

"Who can give me one of them? Celeste?" She indicated the young, raven-haired Hufflepuff who had raised her hand.

"All numbers have magical properties." When the girl finished reading, she looked up from the book.

"Good. Next? Thibault?"

The sandy-haired, brown-eyed Sytherin stared at her, eyes wide.

"Page three," Hermione nudged.

He turned to the correct place and read, "Number two. Numbers are dependable even when they are irrational."

"Thank you. Why don't you go ahead and read the third principle." Hermione liked to encourage the shy students to speak, and she'd found that having them read was easier than directly asking them questions.

"Number three. When numbers are combined, the results are different than the sum of their parts." Thibault glanced at Hermione as though unsure he'd read the words correctly.

"Very good," said Hermione, walking around her desk to the board. "Rest assured, that information will be on your upcoming exam, and it is essential that you grasp the meaning of the Principles, which will begin discussing tomorrow. One week will be spent on the principles, followed by a thorough review of the numbers one through ten."

The bell rang.

Hermione smiled at her class. "See you tomorrow."

As she waited for the fourth-year students to trail in, she glanced over her notes from the sixth-year double period earlier that day. Everyone had completed his or her assignment from summer holiday, a first in her teaching experience. Invariably, one or two students came in with elaborate excuses for why they hadn't been able to get the work done. It never mattered; she always scored them with zeroes for the assignment. Perhaps word had finally got around that she meant what she said.

The fourth-year students came in and took their seats, pulled out their books, parchment, quill, and wand, ready for class.

When the bell rang fifty minutes later, Hermione could hardly believe it. They'd started with sharing stories from their summers, followed by a review of the previous year's information. Hermione asked the fourth-years the same question she'd asked the third—and they answered much quicker.

As she bid good day to the students, she couldn't help but feel that this was going to be her best year yet.

**ooo**

When Hermione got to her room after class, she found Blaise standing by her door, parchment in hand. When he saw her, he pushed off, smiling. "I hope now is okay," he said.

"Sure." Wordlessly, Hermione magically unlocked her door and led Blaise inside.

A low fire was simmering in the hearth. Hermione crossed the room and opened the curtains to let the afternoon sun provide the light. "Have a seat." She indicated the seating area in front of the fireplace.

Blaise sat on the sofa beside the window, and Hermione took the chair nearest to him.

"What have you got?" she asked.

He handed her the top sheet of parchment. "I made you a copy. Last year, we discussed doing some things with our houses together, to encourage good relationships between them. I've jotted down a few ideas."

Hermione glanced down the list. "These aren't bad," she said. "I like the idea of the Shrieking Shack outing."

"Pens." Blaise chuckled slightly.

When Hermione looked up, he was busy writing on his page with a pen, to Hermione's surprise. "Where did you get that?"

He examined the pen as though seeing it for the first time. "A shop called Foyles. It's near the Leaky. Discovered it when I took the wrong direction out of the pub one day. I use them all the time." Blaise tapped the pen twice on his paper, then held it out to her. "Have a look."

Hermione smiled at him, a quirk in her lip. "I've used plenty of pens, Blaise."

"Oh. Right." He retracted his arm, unable to make eye contact with her. "Sometimes I forget you're muggle-born."

"It's okay. Sometimes I do too." The admission was surprising at first, but the sensation didn't last but for a second. She'd been in the wizarding world for over half of her life; it should feel perfectly natural.

Blaise glanced at her, his dark, deep eyes searching hers. "I like pens. They're small, portable, don't require ink bottles—which can spill—and they're much sturdier than quills. Why haven't we adopted them into our world?"

Hermione scoffed. "Because that would mean admitting that Muggles have done something better than us. We can't have that, Blaise. It would mean the unraveling of the fabric of our existence as we know it."

He laughed. "Good point. Wouldn't want to upset the delicate balance of delusion and power-tripping in the wizarding world."

Hermione chuckled. "Too much reality might cause their heads to implode. They couldn't handle the reality."

"Who are _**they**_, anyway?" Blaise asked jokingly.

"Oh, you know the type. Rich, pure-blooded, hasn't set a toe into the Muggle world in his or her entire life, and neither did the generations before. Know anyone like that?" Her tones was teasing, but for a moment, she worried he would take it poorly.

Then he smiled. "A few people. They just have no idea that there's an entire world out there, not just our little corner."

"It would force them to rethink their view of the life they've lived and the traditions they carry on." Hermione shook her head, wanting to change the subject. She could feel her blood starting to boil at the thought of the injustice she'd witnesses, that still persisted. "Would you like some tea?" Hermione went to her small stove and started a fire under her kettle. Blaise said yes, so she handed him her collection of tea bags.

Back in school, she had always thought that he was one of those 'types'. He was a Slytherin, one of Malfoy's best friends in school, not openly hostile, but he certainly never tried to stop Malfoy or stand up to him.

Hermione had been surprised to discover that during the final battle, Blaise hadn't joined Voldemort and the Death Eaters but had taken a boat and crossed the lake with a few other Slytherins who wanted nothing to do with the fight. No one had noticed, since the fighting was concentrated on the other side of the castle.

He and the others had stayed on the far side of the lake until they thought it was safe to come out. Blaise had been very cooperative with the Aurors, and he hadn't been branded with the Dark Mark. After taking his N.E.W.T.s, he'd entered a training program for teaching and started at Hogwarts immediately after completion.

"Have you ever used felt-tipped pens? They're my favorite. The writing looks like it came from a quill, with none of the trouble. How about you?"

Hermione started to respond, but her fireplace chimed, indicating that someone was trying to call. "Excuse me."

Blaise nodded and turned his attention to his parchments.

After accepting the Floo call, Ginny's head appeared in green flames. Hermione smiled. "Hey, Ginny."

"Gotta make this quick. Harry was supposed to ask you—but he forgot." She rolled her eyes. "Dinner tonight? To celebrate the new term?"

"I have a house meeting," Hermione replied. "It might go long, since it's the first of the year. I'll try to get out by seven-thirty."

"That will be perfect," said Ginny. "If you're late, it's okay. Ron will be here, Luna, Neville … a few others."

"Sounds fun, thanks Ginny! See you tonight."

Hermione terminated the connection and returned to her sitting room. Blaise was standing at her bookshelf, running a finger along the spines.

"See anything you like?" she asked, leaning against the door frame between the two rooms.

Blaise finished the row and shrugged. "I've read a few of them. We have different tastes, apparently."

"Oh?" Hermione sat back down in her chair and watched her companion return to his seat on the sofa.

"I enjoy reading what Muggles call science fiction. Asmiov, especially." Blaise uncapped his pen, ready to take notes.

"I prefer Muggle literature," Hermione said and then amended, "Classic literature."

Blaise nodded, his eyes on the page. "I can tell."

Hermione watched the top of Blaise's head for a few seconds before shaking her head. He'd always been a little strange, and this episode only reinforced that perception. One minute they'd been laughing and joking, the next, he'd retreated somewhere in his mind.

For an instant, she wondered if he fancied her, but then quickly dismissed the idea. Blaise was just a friend; he had never given any indication that he thought of her any other way. A niggling thought reminded her that he was a bit strange, that he might not display interest the way she was used to.

"Shall we continue?" he asked, smiling at her again as though the weird moment had never happened.

"Sure." She nodded, content to leave the matter for another date—or to never revisit it.

**ooo**

Draco sat at his desk with a cup of strong coffee on a bright, crisp Thursday, one week after the beginning of term at Hogwarts. Time was slowly slipping away, and he wanted to have answers before his parents returned. Besides, working with Hermione would also go much smoother if he didn't have to worry about his parents' meddling.

Although his plan was going according to schedule, everything felt as if it was moving too slow. He was typically a patient man, but once he decided to actively search for his blackmailer, he wanted to get started _now_. There were things he had to accomplish first—he knew that—but there were moments when he half considered dropping everything and going directly to Hermione with what he had.

Gathering information took time, he knew that, and there was a reason for what he was doing. Before he could investigate the blackmailing, he had to get her to work with him. In order to convince her to help him, he needed to have all the facts when he presented his case to Granger—and an incentive.

Nearly two weeks had passed since he had begun the process of learning all he could about Hermione Granger. In that time, he had at least skimmed almost every journal she subscribed to, memorized everything Blaise had sent him, and started finalizing his plans for providing the incentive. If his theory was correct—if she was trying to find a cure to long-term effects of the Cruciatus curse—then he just might have the very thing that would ensure her assistance, regardless of what he asked of her.

One of the most interesting things he had learned from Blaise's investigation was that the man seemed exceptionally fascinated with his colleague. Draco wondered if it might be a problem, but he didn't dwell on it. He would mention it to Hermione about it when he made his pitch and deal with it then if necessary.

Caleb's distinctive knock interrupted Draco's thoughts. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and admitted his personal assistant.

"Gregory Goyle here to see you, sir," Caleb informed him.

Draco nodded, putting the daily mail and the pages of notes he'd compiled into a drawer.

Greg entered with a metal case in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. "Morning, Draco," he said, dipping his head in greeting and taking a seat across the large executive desk.

"Greg. I trust you had a good trip?" Draco smiled warmly at his friend.

The other man grinned. "I did. It was very successful."

"I see," said Draco. "Do tell."

"I know you've got a meeting in a bit," Greg said, setting his coffee on the desk. "But I thought you'd want to get these first thing." He opened the metal case after using an unlocking charm, and turned it so that Draco could look inside.

Draco saw four large, metal tubes held in place by thick foam. "The volcanic ash?" he asked, taking one of the containers out and opening it to examine the contents.

"Yes. All three volcanoes you wanted," Greg replied.

"Excellent." Draco replaced the container. "I can't thank you enough."

"Do you mind if I ask what they're for?" Greg asked, shutting the case and handing it to Draco. "Other than … well, sending me to Fiji?"

Draco smirked. "Was that successful? I've been anxious to hear from you. Did you find Pansy?"

Greg shifted in his chair. "Yeah. She stayed in Suva, the capital. There's a small wizarding population, and she had a room in the best hotel. It was the first place I checked, just as you had suggested."

"Did you see her?" Draco asked.

Greg nodded. "She looked great, and seemed to be having a good time."

Draco frowned. "Did you speak with her at all?"

"Oh, well, yeah. When she saw me, she insisted that we do something together, since we were both there. We had dinner."

"And?" Draco prodded, after realizing that Greg didn't plan to continue. "I sent you to Fiji on a two-fold mission. Surely I'm due a few details about how you spent your free time."

"Dinner was nice," Greg said stiffly.

"Did you see her again?" Draco asked, feeling as though he were pulling teeth to get anything out of his usually talkative friend.

"Yeah, I saw her again." Greg stopped talking and averted his eyes.

Draco decided not to press his friend. Whatever had happened was between Greg and Pansy, and despite Draco's involvement, he didn't want to cause additional pain, if, indeed, that was what held Greg's tongue. He felt a little ridiculous at his attempt at match-making. He had only wanted his friends to be happy.

"Tell me about the samples," Draco said, sipping from his now lukewarm coffee.

"They were a lot of work to get," Greg began. "Not difficult themselves, but getting to them. None of the volcanoes are on the main island of Fiji; instead, they are located on three surrounding islands. The wizarding presence in Fiji is limited, and I couldn't get details on precisely where the islands were for Apparating purposes."

"What did you do?" Draco asked.

"I … well, I hope it's all right, I figured it would be, since you wanted this assignment done quickly." Greg looked at Draco sheepishly. "I chartered a Muggle boat. With company funds."

Draco clenched his jaw but otherwise made no indication of the news unsettling him. The boat was something he hadn't considered, but then the entire trip was outside of the budget for the month. What difference would a boat rental really make? "That's fine, Greg," Draco said, trying to reassure him with a smile. "Absolutely. You did what needed to be done."

Greg let out a long sigh of relief. "I thought you might be angry," he said. "Since I didn't ask. I wanted to, but I had to make a quick decision, and with the time zone differences, you weren't available."

"I said it's fine," Draco repeated casually. "How did it go?"

Still not quite allowing himself to fully relax, Greg continued. "Good, good. I enjoyed the boat, actually. The first two volcanoes were on islands not far from the main one, Viti Levu, and I went to those first. They took a day each to collect the samples. I've done a fair share of collections for you, but these were some of the hardest. The weather was hot and muggy, the ash was buried under dirt and plant life …. I think I should apply for hazard pay."

Draco laughed, and Greg's gaze lifted to meet his. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

"The third volcano was a bit father away, and required an overnight stay," Greg continued. "Getting to the top of those things wasn't easy, either; I had to get rid of the guy I hired and Apparate as close as possible."

Draco again removed a container from the case and opened it. This time, however, he removed one of the vials inside. "How many samples did you get?"

"Six from each volcanic area," Greg replied. "They don't know when Koro, one of the volcanoes, last erupted, but the other two were active in the 16th and 17th centuries. I think the samples from those will be more beneficial."

"There are four cylinders," Draco noted.

"Right," said Greg, excitedly. "There's a fourth volcanic island, about four hundred sixty kilometers from Fiji. It's the island of Rotuma, and the volcano is made of alkali-olivine basalt and hawaiite."

Draco blinked, his mind tripping around one of the words but unable to say exactly which one or why. "Are those names supposed to mean something to me?" he asked.

"I … well, no," said Greg. "But it's different from the other three volcanoes. A strange bloke on the island said there were legends of weird things happening around that volcano, so I reckon I just followed my instinct. I collected soil samples from different cones on Rotuma, at different elevations. It's all marked. I don't know what you were looking for, but I think your best shot at finding something is from Rotuma."

"Thanks, Greg." Draco found the container labeled Rotuma and opened it. "I'll send these to the lab and hopefully they'll find something useful."

Greg leaned forward in his seat, resting one arm on the armrest. "So … what are these samples for, anyway? You've never had me go on such an errand before."

Draco closed the case and put it behind his desk. "They're for a bit of research on Unforgiveables, specifically the Cruciatus. I'm not quite sure where this might be useful, but I read something recently that mentioned volcanic ash and soil in an experimental remedy. I need to do a little more reading on the matter before I can speculate about what I might have." He paused. "It could be nothing."

"The Cruciatus?" Greg repeated with a slight frown.

In truth, Draco had been curious about Hermione since their last encounter, when she had mentioned potions for countering the long-term effects of the Cruciatus. Thus far, no one had been successful in alleviating the nightmares, twitches, auditory and visual hallucinations that occasionally plagued the victims of the curse. Their severity depended on the time under the curse, and Draco knew that Hermione had experienced a particularly toxic dose.

When she brushed past the subject, he suspected that she was looking for a relieving potion, for herself as well as others. Draco had his own share of lasting side effects from the curse, and had requested an exhaustive list of articles on the subject. One had mentioned the potential for benefits in volcanic ash.

"Symptom relief," Draco remarked. "As I said, it could be nothing. I can't thank you enough for doing this."

"You're welcome, of course," Greg replied. "Anytime."

Draco glanced at the clock and saw that only a few minutes remained until first meeting of the day. "We'll talk again soon, Greg," he said, dismissing him.

Once the door shut behind his friend, Draco sighed. He hoped the samples might prove useful, but ever since he sent Greg on the mission to retrieve them, he had doubted that anything would come of it. The trip had been a brash attempt to get his friends … what? Romantically involved? He wanted Pansy to see a different side of Greg, not just as 'Draco's friend.' Well, he had done what he could, and the rest was up to the fates.

**ooo**

**A/N**: A line or two from this were inspired by "Elizabethtown". Thanks to manda for the chapter title! Thank you so much for reading. I hope you liked this one! Next week, I'll be back with art, but do check out the music for this chapter!


	7. The Winds of Change

**- - -**

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 7 - - The Winds of Change**

**- - -**

Fridays were one of Hermione's favorite days of the week, and this one proved to be no exception. It was a beautiful fall day, the leaves just starting to turn, and she had plans for a trip into London with Ginny and Luna that evening. Mrs. Potter needed a night out, and Hermione was more than happy to oblige.

An hour remained before her favorite class, the seventh-year students, arrived. In the two years she had taught, she had always become very close with her seventh-year N.E.W.T. group. They had frequent deep, thought-provoking discussions, not only in the classroom, and they took two trips a year together. It never failed that the class formed a tight bond, not only with each other, but with her as well. She corresponded with many of her former students and readily provided letters of recommendation for those who wished to further their education.

This year's group was proving to be an interesting one. She had four from her house, two from Gryffindor, and three from Ravenclaw. As she did every year, Hermione planned to split the students into groups for the projects they would be assigned throughout the year. However, having an odd number of students meant that she couldn't put them in groups of two. She'd decided to make teams of three and increase the workload for each assignment.

Hermione was still considering how to group the students. The groups were very important, as they would remain unchanged for the first half of the year, and the students needed to work together in order to achieve success in their work. She always tried to put different kinds of people together, and liked to pair them up based on complementary work habits and proficiency. Grouping three would undoubtedly prove more difficult than pairing two.

She skimmed her list of students. The Gryffindors would be separated; there was no doubt of that. Evan Turner, a tall, thin young man with glasses and sandy blond hair, and Corey Davidson, also tall, but slightly heavier than Evan, with dark brown hair and dimples, had been inseparable since their first year of school. They worked well together; so well, in fact, that often they could anticipate what the other would say or do. They needed to learn to work with new people, to get out of their familiar study habits and be exposed to other ways of thinking.

The three students in Ravenclaw were all exceptionally bright. They had each scored an "O" on their Arithmancy O.W.L.s, and Taro Chang, Cho's youngest brother, had achieved perfect marks in the written and practical exam. Taro was very shy and mostly stuck by himself. He didn't offer many answers in class, but whenever Hermione called on him, he always had the correct one.

Ketty Mason and Karalynn Baker were the other two in Ravenclaw. They weren't best of friends, Hermione could tell, but they were polite and tolerated each other well enough during class. Karalynn reminded Hermione of herself, and she cringed whenever Karalynn eagerly raised her hand to answer every question she asked.

Though Hermione would never say her quest for knowledge was anything to be ashamed of, Hermione had realized since school that she hadn't needed to let everyone know that she worked so hard. She had wanted to impress her teachers as well, but now that she was a teacher herself, she realized that it wasn't the student who was most vocal about giving the correct answer that professors most appreciated. Rather, it was the student who struggled when new concepts were introduced, but whose face lit up in triumph when he or she grasped them at last.

Ketty was quiet and had a sharp wit. When someone spoke out of turn, or made a sly comment, she always had a rejoinder at the ready, which led that person to flush with embarrassment and mumble an apology. At first, Hermione had thought she was doing it in order to gain favor with the teacher. Over time, however, it became clear that Ketty did it for herself, to keep the classroom in order so that those who wished to learn, could. She had exercised her acerbic tongue less frequently in her sixth year than her fifth, and Hermione concluded it was because the field of students had been whittled down to only the most serious, to those who, like her, wanted to master the subject.

Hermione considered putting Ketty and Karalynn together, since they weren't usually study partners. Plus, their personalities and work ethic would make them excellent teammates.

Finally, Hermione looked at her list of Slytherin students. Samaya Black was a distant relative of Sirius's family. Her father had been Sirius's father's second cousin, and the family had lived in Belgium for most of Samaya's youth. Though they didn't possess the typical Black ideals of a desire for pure-blood dominance, she was still very spoiled and thought she was better than most. She had been Hermione's most difficult student when she had started teaching. Not only did Samaya know many of her less than savory relations, but she displayed the same arrogance and superiority complex that had once plagued Draco Malfoy.

Not long after starting at Hogwarts, during Samaya's fifth year, Hermione calmly asked the girl to explain, to the entire class of twenty, the inherent differences between those of purported pure-blood and those who were Muggle-born. Samaya had started with the typical rubbish Hermione had heard all of her life, and Hermione refuted every claim. When Samaya had nothing left to say, she had left the classroom in a huff, calling Hermione a Mudblood on her way out. Hermione had smiled patiently and given her three weeks of detention.

For her detention, Hermione had required Samaya to study genetics, using both Muggle and wizarding sources, and to research the human genome. Then Hermione had Samaya find out if anyone had ever mapped wizarding DNA; someone had. Finally, Samaya had to find any differences between the wizarding and Muggle genomes and write a two-foot essay on each. There had been none. By the end of that year, Samaya was the student who defended Hermione the strongest against those who had a problem with her position as Head of Slytherin house.

Damian Reed and Edgar Terwilliger were the two Slytherin young men. Damian was typically thought of as the 'class clown,' who often pranked his fellow classmates and sent harmless but debilitating jinxes at students in the hallway. He was the seventh-year student most often in detention, but he was very good-natured and studious, and most of the teachers liked him. He reminded Hermione of Fred Weasley, and though she disapproved of his bolder antics, she couldn't help but adore him as well.

Edgar was the young man that all the females of Hogwarts wished would look their way. He was good-looking, friendly, and smart bordering on arrogant. Though he was a Slytherin, he had made it known in his younger years that he was not like most in his house. He was pure-blooded and certainly ambitious, and the Sorting Hat had placed him well, but he held no prejudice against those of different blood. He had grown up in Africa, where his parents moved when he was a small child. They were Healers, and went to war-torn countries to offer their services. Growing up away from England, he hadn't been exposed to the prejudice found in the wizarding world.

Last on the list was Sheetal Patel. She was one of the most beautiful girls in her year, but she was as smart as she was pretty. She had a good imagination and a flair for the dramatic. Hermione thought that Evan Turner had something of a crush on the Slytherin, but had never acted upon it. As a general rule, there were few friendships and no dating across the Slytherin and Gryffindor houses.

The distance between her current and former house was something that concerned Hermione. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff mingled well, with friendships forming easily among their students, but the old enmity still existed between them and Slytherin. Through Hermione's limited influence, her house had started mingling with Ravenclaw to some extent, but she realized something larger would be needed to bridge the gap between Slytherin and Gryffindor. If Sheetal would only notice Evan, and then the young man finally do something about his crush, perhaps that might be enough to start mending the divide.

She sighed. At least the problems of division weren't as stark as they once were. It was progress, and real, lasting change took time. Hermione knew that. Still, she was secretly hoping that Evan would make a move, and that the object of his affections wouldn't spurn him. It would be a step in the right direction. She strongly debated ignoring the voice in her head that said she was interfering and put Evan and Sheetal in the same group. It wasn't a lot of interference, really; she would simply be making sure they spent a little more time together than they did at present. What came next would be out of her hands.

"Morning, Professor," said Karalynn, beaming as she took her usual seat and took out her things.

Hermione nodded and put the list of students in her desk. The remaining seventh-year students trickled in. Edgar, Damian and Sheetal entered and sat together. Next came Ketty followed shortly by Corey, then Evan, who glanced at Sheetal talking closely with Edgar and grimaced slightly. The last to enter were Taro and Samaya, the latter giving Hermione a friendly smile.

"Good morning, class," Hermione said, standing from her desk. "I trust you have had a good week?"

The general consensus was yes, and Damian and Edgar sniggered over a private joke.

"I'm glad to hear it. As you know, we are nearly through just over two weeks of the term, and the Monday after next, you will begin your term projects."

Everyone was silent, their attention focused on Hermione, each secretly running through the names of people with whom they would be happy to work.

"There will be three groups of three. Each of you will be given a series of numbers. Your assignment will be to discover the greatest magical combination that can result from these numbers. Remember to consider the special rules which apply to each number, if there are any."

Corey raised his hand and Hermione called on him. "Will you be putting us in groups today?" he asked.

"No. I'm still deciding. Monday you'll get your assigned groups, for sure. You will then be given some time in class to work in your groups on a short exercise, to get an idea of what the group dynamics will be. Friday you will be given your numbers, and then every Friday for the rest of the term will be spent out of class, working in your groups."

"Will we be able to come to you for help?" Karalynn asked.

"I will provide guidance, as always," Hermione said. "My aim is to group you in such a way that you won't need a lot of outside help. You are all very talented in different ways, and I want to see what you can do when you are challenged. I have great expectations, and I know I won't be disappointed. Now, as for your last homework assignment …"

The double-period passed quickly, as it always seemed to with this class. Hermione was just about to call their attention from their in-class work, when the door to the room opened, admitting a small boy. He walked directly to Hermione's desk.

"Apologies for the interruption," he began. He fished a slip of parchment from his pocket and handed it to her. "From the Headmistress."

"Thank you," said Hermione, and waited until the boy left to read the note.

iProfessor Granger – Please stop by my office on your way to lunch. ~ Minerva/i

She frowned at the parchment then put it away, her mind beginning to try to figure out what Minerva might want. The bell rang, startling Hermione. The class of seventh-years watched her, waiting for their assignments.

"Hand in your work on your way out, and for Monday, I want you to list three of your strengths and weaknesses." Most of them looked confused, as the assignment had nothing to do with the subject.

Hermione stood. "I know what you're thinking, that I've gone round the bend, but I assure you, there is a purpose to this. Please put some thought into your assignment and give examples of each. That is all."

She didn't wait for her room to clear out before gathering her things and leaving. Minerva had never sent a request to see her by a student during a class. Whenever she needed to speak to Hermione, she either mentioned it at the soonest meal, or if they passed each other in the hallway. In the most urgent matter up to that point, Minerva had waited outside the Arithmancy room for the session to conclude. Whatever reason Minerva had for summoning her, it wasn't dire enough to come in person, but important enough not to wait until they saw each other.

Hermione walked quickly through the familiar halls, eventually coming to the conclusion that someone in her house had gotten into serious trouble. She reached the gargoyle statue and gave the password: lemon drop. Minerva ran the school in her own way, making the position of Headmistress hers, and not simply the post which was last held by Albus Dumbledore. However, one thing she had kept the same was the use of sweets as passwords. It was her way of paying homage to the man who had run the school with great passion and dedication.

When the spiral staircase reached the landing, Hermione saw that the door was slightly ajar. She knocked, and heard the usual sharp tone of Minerva McGonagall bid her enter.

By the time she reached the Headmistress's office, Hermione had decided what she thought the matter was about. When she walked into the room, she expected to see two students who had gotten into an argument, one of which was in Slytherin—hence her presence. The other student would most likely be from Gryffindor, and she expected to see its head of house, Blaise.

Instead, she was stunned to see Draco Malfoy standing in front and to the left of Minerva's desk. He was dressed in immaculate black robes, and he looked taller than when she had seen him last, at the Quidditch match a few weeks ago. His blond hair fell around his face in front, longer in the back, and his hands were clasped in front of him. She faltered for an instant, and then moved beside him.

Minerva stood when Hermione entered. "Thank you for coming, Miss Granger." She glanced warily at Draco. "You have a visitor who would like to speak with you alone."

"That's fine, Minvera," Hermione said, her mind whirring. What could he possibly want?

The Headmistress looked for a moment as though she wasn't sure about leaving the two of them alone and then headed for the door.

"Thank you," said Draco over his shoulder just before the door clicked shut.

Hermione looked at him, unable to hide her curiosity. "Malfoy. What are you doing here?"

He glanced around the room for a few moments, taking it in. "Would you believe, in all my years here, I didn't set foot in this room until Snape was Headmaster?"

The admission surprised Hermione. She had always assumed that he got into plenty of trouble. He didn't seem interested in a response, just kept looking around. When his eyes fell on the portrait of Dumbledore, his cheeks flared and he began to pace the room in front of the large window behind the desk.

"You might want to sit," he said.

Hermione frowned, her heart starting to beat faster as she considered that something might be very wrong. "Malfoy, tell me what you want this instant," she demanded. "Why are you here in the middle of the day? Whatever you have to say, surely it could have waited until after classes were finished."

He stopped and turned his head, a strained smile on his face. "Professor Granger is very different than Hermione-reading-Potions-journals-on-an-orange-sofa." She made no response, and he continued. "I had a free hour, my last until this evening."

Not entirely satisfied with his response, she asked, "Why did Minerva send for me in the middle of class?"

Draco shrugged. "I can only theorize. Perhaps she knew it wise to send for you when she knew where you were. Is there a problem?"

"It's unusual, that's all. You've simply got me worried," she explained. "Is something the matter?"

Draco sighed and drew his fingers through his hair. "I have a proposition for you," he said. His voice sounded as though there was something there, just beneath the surface, fighting to break through. She couldn't tell if it was fear, triumph, joy … she knew so little about the man standing before her.

"What kind of proposition?" she asked.

He started pacing again. "This … is complicated. There is a task that I need help with. For reasons I can't go into at the moment, you are the best suited to this task. It is of extreme importance to me, and so I am willing to do whatever it takes to obtain your acquiescence."

Hermione nodded slowly. His manner was intense, his eyes shining with anticipation. He seemed completely unlike the man she'd spoken with almost a month before. Although, when she thought about it, his conversation then had been tight, closed, even though she had found him easy to talk to and his behavior had been friendly. She had talked at length about herself, whereas he hadn't offered anything extraneous about himself.

"What do you need help with?" she asked.

Draco let out his breath and met her gaze. He stared at her for a few seconds before speaking. "This is where it starts to get complicated. I'm afraid I cannot explain the precise nature of the task at this time. I … I need you to say yes before I can tell you anything."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What is the nature of the task, can you tell me that?"

He considered her question while he resumed pacing. "Problem-solving," he said finally. It was a buzzword he heard Muggles say a lot during meetings.

She raised an eyebrow. "Problem-solving? And you think I am the best one to help? Surely you have other people, friends, your parents, advisors … you could hire someone to help, I'm sure."

Draco frowned deeply. "No. I've thought about this more than you could imagine, and it has to be you. As I said, I will make it worth your time and efforts."

Hermione regarded him thoughtfully. "I can ask for anything?"

"No, but I think you'll find my offer to be generous."

"Let's hear it," she said, taking a seat in front of the desk.

He did not sit, but moved to stand beside the window. For a few moments he said nothing, merely looked out over the school grounds. The look on his face was tortured, pained, yet hopeful, and at that moment, Hermione would have given almost anything to know what he was thinking. By reputation, she knew he had become skilled in masking his emotions, hiding behind a solid wall of indifference. For him to be displaying his inner thoughts so readily, she knew he either trusted her completely or was so distraught that he hadn't even noticed he was being so open.

"Malfoy Incorporated provides a large array of services to the general wizarding population. I doubt you know that the bottles used to hold potions ingredients are made by one of our divisions. That's just one thing we do. Similarly, we make glass equipment for laboratories; a large client happens to be this school. Beyond that, there are three research labs under my employ, two of which are relatively small and are currently only used for the brewing of potions in order to sell them."

He paused, turning slightly, but not making eye contact with her. "The third is actively engaged in the type of research that interests you. The facility is only used at half capacity at present."

Hermione's heart was now pounding in her chest. She thought she knew where he was going with this, and the idea of it was so incredible that she was barely breathing, waiting for him to finish.

"You see, Hermione, I do my research too. I know what you want most, and I offer it."

"You know what I want most?" she repeated, unnerved by his bold statement.

He smirked. "Well, at least so far as research goes."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I know that you've been published six times, not once the lead researcher. Each article has been on potions for curing ailments or alleviating symptoms. I know you've applied, and been rejected, three times for a grant to study the Cruciatus curse."

Hermione held his gaze, not blinking when he correctly detailed her research history. "Are you saying you'll get my request approved?" She wasn't sure what to make of him. At the Quidditch games, he had been relaxed and had smiled easily. The man standing before her appeared to carry an enormous weight inside. His words were careful, his actions deliberate, as though he had to measure each action for its possible consequences.

"If you agree to help me, I will provide funding for your research. How you choose to spend it will be up to you. However, if you help me and we are successful, I will give you unhindered access to whatever equipment and personnel you desire, and unlimited resources with which to design and perform as many experiments as possible."

Hermione gasped at the enormity of his offer. He must be truly out of options to have approached her. She had already been inclined to help him, after his sincere apology and friendliness toward her, but now … She simply couldn't refuse. The chance he was offering, the resources …. She would be able to pursue as many theories as she could develop, to carry out the much-needed research she believed would be beneficial to wizarding-kind.

"Think, Granger," he said, speaking before she had a chance to. "How many years would it take for you to work up to the prestige it would take to obtain funding for your ambitious experiments? I've read those reports; I know what you want to do. At this point, it could be ten, fifteen, even twenty years before you've got enough credibility behind your name to merit that kind of grant. I'm offering you the chance to skip all that."

She knew he was exactly right, but the enormity of his offer gave her pause. "Is this task dangerous? Illegal?" she asked.

He seemed to relax very slightly, encouraged that she hadn't turned him down outright. "There is the possibility of danger, though it isn't certain. I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are not harmed. And no, the task is not illegal."

"All right, I'm interested. What is this task?"

Draco frowned again. "As I've said, I want to take the proper precautions to ensure your safety. As such, I cannot tell you now."

"When can you?" she asked, an alarm going off at his avoidance of telling her the task.

"Certain things must come first."

"Like what?"

He took a deep breath and said, "Tea with me tomorrow, in Diagon Alley, followed by lunch someday next week in Hogsmeade, and finally dinner with me a week from tonight, at the location of my choosing."

Hermione thought she'd had her fill of surprises for the day. She'd been wrong. "You want me to … go out with you?"

Draco chuckled. "I want it to look that way, yes."

"But why? I don't understand why you can't just tell me."

His gaze went hard, his eyes cold. "I have no way of knowing who might be watching me. For your safety, it needs to appear that our association is of a purely social nature, that no one suspects we are meeting regularly for any other reason."

If someone was following him, watching him, then there was a distinct possibility of danger. Probable, even, if she judged by the edge to his voice. "Let me get this straight. I have to agree, right now, to help you, even though I won't find out what the task is until after I've gone on three supposed dates with you."

"That's correct," he said stiffly.

"Is there any point at which I can back out?"

"Yes. Up until when I tell you what this is all about. Once you know the details, I'm afraid you're in."

"Will there be some kind of spell or blood-oath you'll require me to take?" She'd been partly joking, but his face remained as expressionless as it had before her comment. "I'm really going to take an oath?"

He shrugged. "I haven't decided. For my protection, I can't allow you to have all the knowledge I will impart unless you are going to assist me. You would make my life considerably more difficult if you divulge my secrets to anyone. I cannot run that risk."

"May I have time to think about it?" she asked, not holding any hope that he would say yes.

"I'm afraid not. I'm running over on time as it is; this was supposed to be a social visit to ask you to tea tomorrow, and it's been over twenty minutes now."

Her knee-jerk reaction was to say no. The through of agreeing to help without knowing the particulars was frightening, and Hermione never did anything without having all the facts. Past that initial feeling, however, she saw his pain, his hope that she would agree. Draco had made the effort to speak with her and to apologize for his past treatment of her. Then there was the promise of a lab of her own with virtually unlimited resources.

With no time to adequately weigh the pros and cons, Hermione decided to go against her initial reaction. "Okay," she said abruptly. "I'll do it."

Draco's face relaxed into the most transforming smile she'd seen him display. The previous smiles she had seen were genuine, but they also showed signs of weariness, of being unable to fully let himself be happy about something. Now, though, she was struck by how good-looking he could be.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said, coming around the desk and stopping a few inches in front of her. For a moment, she thought he might hug her, but he merely rocked on his heels and took a step back. "We have a reservation at _Tea Leaves and Thyme_ for four tomorrow afternoon."

"Pretty confident, weren't you?" she said.

"I know you are a reasonable woman, and I was sure my offer would be sufficient to ensure your assistance."

"Tomorrow, then," Hermione said, her stomach performing a small flip-flop at the thought.

He nodded looking at her warmly. "Thank you for your time, I must be off. Would you walk me out?"

"Sure," said Hermione after a moment of hesitation.

They started for the door, but Hermione stopped. "Oh, Malfoy …" she said, grabbing his arm lightly to get his attention. When he looked at her quizzically, she dropped it. "I … I do have one question. Should my friends know? I mean, not about my helping you, of course, but … about us, seeing each other? I know it's just a pretense, but I wondered how far you wanted to take it." She reddened instantly when she realized how suggestive her statement sounded.

Draco smirked, but there was no malice behind it. "The more people that know, the better. As I said, this portion of my plan is for your protection. If your friends believe we are dating, then that will be for the best."

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm not sure that will go over well with some of them."

He tilted his head slightly, a new, unreadable expression on his face. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"No," she replied, feeling her face flush again.

"Good. That would have been awkward. May we continue now?"

"Yes."

They exited the office and, after some internal debate on both their parts, weighing the pros and cons and considering the time factor, they climbed into the rotating statue together. Hermione faced Draco and as soon as the statue started moving, she regretted it. Draco was entirely too close; she could see the fine detail on the collar of his robes, and every time she took a breath, she felt light-headed. He smelled of cloves, sage, and expensive ink—Hawthorne's Inks made with neroli oil, to be precise. Hawthorne's were her favorite. She would know it anywhere.

Her eyes came to his chin and she dared not look up. She could feel him watching her auspiciously. After the seemingly long ride, they reached the bottom. Hermione rushed out, eager to put some distance between them. His nearness was intense, overpowering, and confusing. She took a deep breath, thankful that her head had cleared but missing his delightful scent.

She started walking without waiting for him, and he caught up to her, chuckling amusedly to himself.

"What's so funny?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Nothing. I take it that you were referring to Weasley earlier, correct?"

"Yes," she said with a sigh. "I'm afraid he's still rather hesitant to accept you."

"Not surprising," said Draco.

"How long do you expect this to go on?" she asked.

"I can't say. Long enough that I will make an effort to be … civil to him, should we ever be required to interact."

"That's very mature of you, Malfoy," Hermione said, casting him a playful smile.

They descended the main staircase and passed the Great Hall, the sounds and smells of lunch wafting through its opened doors. Hermione caught movement in her peripheral vision and saw Samaya heading out of the corridor that led from the dungeons.

"Professor Granger!" she called, and met Hermione and Draco just before the doors leading out of the castle.

"Samaya, what can I do for you?"

The girl looked from Hermione to Draco, and back, and then her eyes widened and darted back to Draco. "You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you?"

He took a deep breath and nodded curtly. "I am."

"We're related," said Samaya.

Draco's eyes widened and he glanced at Hermione.

"Yes, well, Samaya, this is Draco Malfoy, Draco meet Samaya Black."

If he was surprised to be presented with a distant relation who obviously knew who he was, Draco didn't show it. In fact, he barely acknowledged recognizing the girl's surname.

"Is that so?" he said.

Samaya nodded. "Your mum's cousin's father's second cousin is my grandfather."

Hermione bit back a laugh.

Draco frowned. "Fascinating."

"What did you want, Samaya?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, it can wait," the girl said, giving Hermione a knowing look. Then she turned and headed back toward the dungeons.

When she was out of sight, Draco said, "That could prove interesting."

"How so?" Hermione asked. They resumed their path and exited the castle through the large front doors.

"I wonder how close her family is with my mother's. It wouldn't do for my mother to get a letter while on holiday, saying her son has been seen in the company of a woman."

"Are you ashamed of me already?" Hermione asked teasingly.

Draco fastened tightly the clasp on his cloak before answering. "Hardly. I would tell my mother in person if I am dating someone. Though in this case, with their extended leave, I'm afraid that won't be possible."

"Especially since I'm a Muggle-born." Hermione knew she was testing him and desperately hoped he passed.

He met her gaze unflinchingly. "That is beside the point. In our circle, there is a proper procedure for courtship. It's a load of antiquated rubbish if you ask me, but my mother, at least, expects me to follow the rules to the letter."

"Surely, in your circle, that means no Muggle-borns," she said sarcastically.

Draco's jaw flexed and he eyed her critically. "As I said, it's rubbish."

"Why is your mum in Paris?" Hermione asked.

"My parents are on holiday, originally for two months, but Father just sent word they'll be extending their trip another month," he said. The bitterness in his voice surprised Hermione. "It does afford me more time to finish this business with you."

"I imagine that's what you want, then? To have this finished before they return?" She didn't know where her sudden annoyance had come from. It wasn't as though she had agreed to actually date him, and so she didn't know why she felt slighted by the idea that he wouldn't want to tell his parents about her, wouldn't want them to know, or even suspect, that he was dating a Muggle-born. It would seem as though her deep-seated feelings of resentment toward Draco could not simply be magicked away as she had hoped.

"Yes," he said tersely. "Whatever you are implying, I would rather you be frank. I don't enjoy games and riddles."

"You don't want them to know you're seeing me, real or not."

He scowled at her then rubbed his head in exasperation. "You're being absurd, though your concern is understandable. My desire to have this matter concluded before they return home has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my father. That is all you need know at this point."

She immediately felt terrible and scolded herself. "I'm sorry, Draco. That was … brash of me."

"Let's walk to the gate," he said, not waiting for her to agree. He walked quickly, keeping a few steps in front of her. Once they'd put a hundred feet between the castle and themselves, he spoke again, this time gently. "I have no reason to expect you to see me in a favorable light, despite my apology. I only hope that over the course of our time together, you will see me differently than you do at present."

"I already do," she rushed.

He stopped in his tracks and she nearly ran into him. Then he looked at her, his face betraying nothing, and reached for her hand.

Hermione's first instinct was to draw back, but he caught her before she could, and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. "Until next time," he said, his mouth barely off her skin and his eyes boring into hers. She felt his breath on her skin, causing the fine hairs on her hand to stand on end.

Hermione was so stunned that she only managed to tell him goodbye when he was twenty paces away. She stared after him until he disappeared from sight, and then slowly walked back to the castle.

Samaya was waiting for her just inside the door. "Are you seeing him?" she asked, falling in stride beside Hermione.

"That is certainly none of your business," Hermione said, straightening her back and starting for the Great Hall. She wondered if it really mattered that Samaya thought she was seeing Draco, since people were supposed to think she was seeing him very soon.

"He certainly is handsome. Dad said he was a Death Eater, is that true?"

"Yes," Hermione said, walking quickly between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables toward the staff table.

"He was in Slytherin, too. Most of my family is."

Hermione nodded.

"Interesting … Enjoy your lunch, Professor," Samaya said. With a curious smile, the girl left Hermione to join her friends at the Slytherin table.

The rest of Hermione's day passed in a blur. She tried to remember everything she had heard or read about Draco over the last seven years, and even went to the library to pull up old editions of the _Prophet _to search for references to him in there. She learned little; every single article in the past five years that even so much as mentioned him was business-related. Prior to that, the articles were about the war, then his trial, Narcissa's trial, and finally Lucius's trial, conviction and imprisonment. They said nothing about who he was, about the man whose lips she could still feel on the back of her hand.

Next Hermione turned to other wizarding publications. _Witch Weekly_ provided her with the most information, but she suspected much of it was pure speculation. There were numerous pictures of him—usually with a beautiful woman on his arm—but the look on his face was always the same: business only. Not one of the moving pictures showed him looking at the woman with any kind of fondness. For their part, the women seemed to understand their roles. He seemed to prefer a new woman for each event, though here and there Hermione saw him with the same woman on different occasions.

There was always intense discussion in the articles following an issue in which Draco was shown with a new witch. His love life seemed a highly popular topic, though without any sort of confirmation from him or any of the beautiful women he associated with, the conversations quickly fizzled.

The pictures were always taken at public events. There were no snapshots of him darting out of a café holding hands with a woman, or stealing a kiss when he thought no one was looking. He either hadn't had many relationships over the years, or he'd kept them very private. Hermione suspected the latter; after all, someone like Draco Malfoy was bound to attract the attention of the opposite sex. Knowing what little she did of him, she doubted he'd want the world privy to his personal affairs.

Largely uninterested in the hearsay presented in the gossip rag, Hermione sought other sources of information. She stumbled across an interview conducted by a business journal from three years before. When nothing else showed promise on providing her with a glimpse into the character of Malfoy, she took the journal to her quarters, brewed a cup of her favorite tea, and sat down to read the article.

Most of it was strictly business, though she could tell it barely scratched the surface of what he did. Since refusing to tell her more about what he did for his father's company, her interest in finding out had grown, and she'd hoped her research provided a clearer picture.

Hermione also found herself fascinated with the things Malfoy said. His responses were articulate, well-presented, and thorough. While he didn't go into detail about what his company did, she learned that it was highly organized and efficient, branching into a large number of business fields.

The article provided an incomplete list of the various enterprises that Malfoy Inc. dabbled in: research, which she already knew, hardware (such as glass and iron products), investments (from which George and Ron would benefit), communication (though not specified), and parchment.

Then, near the end of the interview, the questions turned away from business.

_Reginald Wilby: Now that we've got through the interesting bits, we've come to the dull, required section of this interview._

_Draco Malfoy: (chuckling) What might that comprise?_

_R.W.: Is there a significant witch in your life?_

_D.M.: That's part of the interview?_

_R.W.: Well, yes. Traditionally, we like to show our readers something about the man behind the mask, so to speak._

_D.M.: There are a few significant witches in my life. My mother, for one. She supports me greatly, makes sure the house-elves bring me my meals. I'm afraid I would have skipped far too many over the years if not for her. _

_R.W.: Of course, that's lovely. Good family support is important. Speaking of families, do you have any intention of starting one of your own in the near future? The distant future?_

_D.M.: (long pause) Certainly not anytime soon. Beyond that … I fancy the idea of a family. _

_R.W.: When was your last meaningful relationship?_

_D.M.: I reckon no one is really going to read this._

_R.W.: (chuckling)_

_D.M.: I have never … I have had a limited number of meaningful relationships, as you put it. _

_R.W.: Why do you think that is? The demands of the job?_

_D.M.: The work I do certainly requires much of my time and energies. I'm not sure how my father managed. Of course, my father already had my mother, and so didn't need to expend any energy on finding a wife. If I were to enter into a relationship, I would want to devote myself to that person, to be able to give her the best of me. My present situation prevents me from being able to do that, and so I choose not to get my heart involved._

_R.W.: There has been great speculation over the years of an ongoing … understanding between you and Miss Pansy Parkinson. Her position in this sphere is considerable. The joining of the Malfoy and Parkinson estates would make you nearly unstoppable._

_D.M.: No comment._

The interview continued for a few more questions, but they turned away from anything personal. Hermione glanced at the clock and saw that she would have to hurry in order to make it to dinner.

**ooo**

Draco returned home from work that evening after nine. He was tired, but felt optimistic because of his conversation with Hermione. She had agreed to the first part of his plan, at least.

Once he was ensconced in his office, Draco ate dinner and opened his mail. Included in the day's stack was a letter from his mother. He had received sporadic communication from his parents. He might get five letters in a week followed by nothing for two. This was the first letter in over a week.

As he read, a new wave of dread washed through him.

_Dear Draco,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Your father and I are enjoying our holiday immensely. Italy and Spain were wonderful, and Paris is simply enchanting. We've settled quite nicely into a rental house, and are taking in the sights. _

_Your father sends his regards and his appreciation for continuing your work for an extra month with the business until he returns. I must thank you personally, as well. We are getting to know each other again, and I find I'm not ready to share my husband with anyone just now. You have my eternal gratitude._

_We miss you, son, and look forward to seeing you when we return._

_Love always,_

_Narcissa_

Draco scowled at the reminder of his parents' extended vacation and pushed away his half-eaten dinner, suddenly not hungry. He crumpled the letter in his hand, and then threw it in the fire. Next he called for Chippy and had the dishes removed. He was too angry to respond just then, but he made a note to do it in the morning. Finally, he threw himself on the sofa and Summoned a bottle of Chianti.

His parents were having a wonderful time while he was stuck trying to pay for it. They obviously didn't miss him or want him there with them. No, there would be no family holiday. Merlin forbid Narcissa have to share his father with him.

Though he understood and accepted that they needed time together, he still wished his father had wanted to spend some of the time with him. Even a week would have made Draco felt appreciated more than a thousand words could.

The only good thing that had come from their prolonged absence was that he and Hermione would now have more time to uncover the blackmailer. He'd been concerned that four weeks wasn't enough. They now had eight. Though by the time Hermione was caught up, it would be down to seven.

His ire retreated at the thought of her. Seeing her that day had made him feel light, the way he always felt when he was around her of late, despite the gravity of his message to her. When she had said yes, he'd nearly hugged her. Then, when they'd ridden down the lift together, he had thought he would drown in her. He'd been perfectly positioned to feel her soft feminine curves against his hard lines, to smell her intoxicating scent. He had groaned internally, scolding his body's reactions. He already knew he was attracted to her; he didn't need the constant physical reminder whenever he was in her presence. It would certainly make working together interesting, but he had no intentions of crossing the line between business and pleasure.

Besides, she wasn't the kind of woman to accept a casual relationship. He couldn't give her much of himself, and he didn't think she would accept less than all of him. If she ever wanted him at all.

He groaned and flipped onto his side, taking one last swallow of the dry wine. Exhausted and bone-weary, Draco fell asleep on the sofa in his office. His last tangible thought was of a pretty, brown-haired girl in a white sundress, laughing at something he had said.

**ooo**

Draco was awakened by a sharp, insistent knock on the office door. Blearily he opened his eyes and glanced around the room, at first not sure where he was. The light from the window told him it was the middle of the night. The knocking continued. Draco stood and stumbled to the door. Leaning one arm against the frame, he opened it a crack, ready to shank whoever had disturbed him.

A woman stood there in business robes that were a little too tight, a blouse a little too revealing and sheer, displaying her assets in a barely-there red brassiere. It was Carrie; of course, he didn't know if that was her real name.

She smiled seductively when their eyes met.

He scowled.

She cocked an eyebrow and then stood on her tiptoes to peek behind him. "Ooh, a desk? It looks solid enough."

"What are you doing here?" he growled.

"It's Friday," she said simply

"No," he said angrily.

"No?" She looked at him then, shock evident on her painted face.

He had never said no before. It was his arrangement, after all. Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to work out the way he felt, the funk he'd settled in. His mind was heavy with the weight of all that had happened in the last month. He didn't want to do this, he wasn't in the mood, and those were the very thoughts that made his decision. If he was considering sending her home, he clearly needed to get his mind off everything going on around him and lose himself in sensation.

"Go to my room," he said gruffly. "I'll be there shortly."

"That's what I thought," she said, reaching up to move a strand of his fringe from off his face.

He pulled away from her and she chuckled.

"Bad week?"

"Go," he grunted.

She complied, slowly removing articles of clothing as she went, leaving a trail. He scowled at her back, and the thought occurred to him that this was the perfect opportunity to release the tension he'd felt when around Hermione. He felt an undeniable attraction to her, and being in such close quarters had been … interesting. The last thing he needed was for his thoughts to run wild—he needed his mind empty, his thoughts cleared, so he could focus on the work to be done. Finding the blackmailer was his highest—his _only_—priority.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thank you for reading! I really hope you liked this one. THE FUN BEGINS! Beta thanks go to manda, z, pokeystar, and drcjsnider. Check out my profile page for links to the art and music. This chapter's art was done by the amazing melia_eothria of LiveJournal. Music, as always, is thanks to inadaze22!


	8. Hero in Her Skies

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter ****8 - - Hero in Her Skies**

**- - -**

Hermione checked her watch just before tossing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace in her quarters. Quarter to nine, right on time.

She stood and stared for a few long moments. This morning she would be telling her parents about Draco, and her nerves were on fire. It had been a while since she had shared news of this sort, and she hoped they wouldn't ask too many questions she couldn't answer.

"Granger residence," she said finally, and then stepped into the swirling green flames.

After the war, Hermione took Ron with her to Australia to retrieve her parents. It had been nearly as difficult as the war itself, seeing them so happily oblivious and then reversing the spells she had cast. She had discussed her plan with them beforehand, and they had known what was coming, but it was still difficult. She showed them the letters they had written to themselves, explaining everything, and her parents had been stunned but accepted her explanation.

She had told them that she would be working with Harry to put an end to a wizard who had taken a page out of Hitler's book. She explained in detail what Voldemort was like, his ambitions, his methods. Hermione had insisted that her parents go into hiding not only for their protection, but for hers also. There was no way to be sure they would become targets, but in order for her to be able to concentrate on helping Harry, she needed to know they would be safe.

Elizabeth and Thomas Granger had agreed, though reluctantly, after Hermione assured them that they would retain their memories as the Grangers, but that their minds would be unable to access those memories. Instead, a new set of false memories would be implanted. Once the war was over, Hermione severed the connection in her parents' brains that led to those false memories.

After returning to England, they resumed their dental practice and Hermione visited them every week during the school year and more frequently during the summer. Saturday morning was her time with her parents. Though they had agreed to let Hermione alter their memories, they had been, and still were, distrustful of magic. This was why she Floo'd there for her weekly visits instead of Apparating; somehow, travel by fireplace seemed less magical to them.

Hermione stepped out of the hearth and cleaned the soot from the floor and her clothes. "Dad? Mum? I'm here!"

She glanced around the room at the empty furniture and drawn windows and wondered if she had made a mistake. Were her parents out of town? She didn't remember them mentioning anything about a trip. The kitchen showed no signs of usage that morning either, and her mother never did anything without a cup of tea.

Hermione headed up the stairs and as she reached the top, her mother came out of the bedroom, pulling her robe around her and yawning.

When she saw Hermione, she stopped mid-step. "Oh! You scared me!" said Elizabeth, smiling at her daughter and going to hug her.

"Sorry, Mum." Hermione chuckled as she returned the embrace. "But it's nearly eight on Saturday morning; this is when I always come by."

"Yes, I know, we didn't set our alarms this morning. We went to an office party last night, were up late, had a few glasses of wine … the lie-in was just what we needed."

"Oh. I was concerned when I came through and didn't see anyone."

Elizabeth smiled and put her arm around Hermione's shoulder. "Now, dear, there's nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. Let's go get breakfast started, shall we? Your father is in the shower."

They went to the kitchen and Elizabeth started bustling around, starting the water boiling, pulling out eggs, onions, sausage and fruit. Hermione peeled a few oranges while they talked.

"How was your week?" Elizabeth asked.

"It was fine," Hermione said.

"And how are your two love-birds coming along?"

Hermione sighed and then laughed. She had told her mother about Evan and Sheetal, and her theory that Evan was pining for the Slytherin girl. "It's ridiculous how much thought I've given to them. They are doing the same. Though … I'm considering putting them in the same work group for the term."

"Should you do that? Isn't that against some kind of … teacher-student confidentiality rule, or something?"

"I shouldn't think so, Mum. Perhaps if Evan had told me of his feelings, then yes, but as it stands, I'm going on speculation alone. Putting them together would only provide more opportunity for Evan to do something."

"Do you think he would?"

"I'm not sure," she replied, thoughtful. "I've tried to predict what would happen, but I can't know how he would act. He iseems/i very confident, not shy around the other girls, and he's got a pleasant demeanor. Yet I've had this suspicion since the middle of last year, and he's done nothing."

Elizabeth finished chopping the onions and put them in a pan with a bit of oil. "I suppose there's no harm. They have to go in a group with someone, after all."

"I still haven't decided," Hermione admitted, putting the orange slices on a plate and then leaning on the counter to watch her mum work.

"How's Charlie?" Elizabeth asked cautiously. "I haven't seen him around much lately."

Hermione shrugged. "I saw him about a month ago. I don't think we'll be getting back together anytime soon, Mum. I know how much you like him."

"Now Hermione, you know that I'm only concerned about your happiness. Yes, we like Charlie, but if things don't work out between you, then we accept that too." She tenderly patted Hermione's cheek.

"Morning, ladies."

Hermione and her mother both turned to the entry where Thomas was standing, smiling.

"Morning, Dad," Hermione said, going to hug him. "Late night, I heard."

He nodded and poured himself a cup of tea, then kissed his wife on the cheek as she stirred the sausage in with the onions.

"Things are going well at school," she said. Then, before she could even think about whether or not she should mention it, Hermione blurted, "And I have a date this afternoon."

Both of her parents stopped and stared at her, then looked at each other, then returned to their previous tasks.

Hermione had been nervous all morning at the thought of telling her parents about Draco. Every time she told them about the men who came into her life, they were very supportive and welcoming, but this one would be significantly different.

She had always been honest with her parents, and following the war, had made every effort to repair the still fragile bond with them. She told them everything about her life, her work, her friends, the men she dated. They had exchanged a pointed look because it had been nearly nine months since she had last been on a date.

No matter how hard she tried, Hermione couldn't get Charlie Weasley out of her heart. Even though it had been two years, part of her didn't want him out and secretly hoped that things would somehow work out between them.

After the war, she and Ron had agreed to start dating after things were settled in the wizarding world. Once Voldemort was dead, Kingsley Shacklebolt agreed to stay in office until a new Minister was elected. Arthur Weasley's name was submitted, and his entire family, including Percy, rallied behind him. It had been a way to unite them after losing Fred, gave them something to work for together.

Hermione had worked with Harry and Minerva at restoring Hogwarts, recruiting new teachers, revamping the curriculum. When Ron started Auror training and Hermione entered her Healer apprenticeship, they began their relationship. It went according to schedule for two years. He kissed her when it was appropriate, they held hands in public, and gazed into each other's eyes.

Ron was there for her when she realized she wasn't cut out for Healing. He'd held her as she made the decision to focus solely on research, and had fully supported every career move she'd made.

But it wasn't enough. One day she'd woken up beside him and realized there was no spark, nothing interesting. While things were nice, pleasant even sometimes, their relationship had fallen into a rut very early on. And two years later, she was sure neither of them had it in them to get out of it.

After a few months apart, they decided they were better off as friends. Life went back to normal. Hermione had dated casually, not getting into anything serious, focusing most of her efforts on completing her certification to teach.

Then early the year following her break-up with Ron, she had been sent by her research job to Romania, to the Dragon Keep where Charlie Weasley worked, to collect samples of dragon dung for study. He offered to show her around the Keep—and help collect her samples—then the city, and soon they were inseparable. She'd moved in with him after only a few months, but they didn't tell anyone at first because Hermione had been unsure how the Weasleys would react. They had all been disappointed when she and Ron had split. She'd feared they would they see her relationship with Charlie as betrayal.

The time they had spent together had been some of the best months of Hermione's life. Charlie truly complemented her, enjoyed her, cherished her, and respected her. She had been sure they would end up together. At Christmas that year, they finally told his family. The reaction had been what they'd expected, though they hadn't anticipated the degree of Ron's anger. Everyone had been shocked, to say the least, but Ron had been angrier than she had ever seen him.

He wouldn't speak to Hermione or Charlie for months, accusing both her and his brother of betraying him. It eventually came out that Ron thought a tremendous amount of Charlie, looked up to him, saw them as cut from the same cloth. He had taken the relationship as a slap to the face; if Hermione couldn't make things work with Ron, why was she able to with Charlie?

Ron had made things difficult in the Weasley family. He forced people to take sides, choose him or Charlie. Molly absolutely refused, but he was so insistent that soon, everyone else had grudgingly chosen a side. Harry, too, had been brought into the ordeal, as Hermione's friend and Ginny's fiancé. He had chosen Hermione, which angered everyone who had taken Ron's side.

Hermione and Charlie fought hard against other people's attempts to dictate their relationship and had continued seeing each other. However, the damage had been done and seeds of discord planted between them. A month before Hermione began her first year of teaching, she and Charlie had ended their relationship. Their separation had been amiable, and they'd still loved each other, but being at the focus of a giant rift in the family had been too much. It wasn't worth it, they'd both concluded.

Hermione didn't speak with Ron for a long time until Charlie begged her to forgive him. She did, and slowly things returned to a semblance of normal, with Ron finally apologizing and removing his objection to her dating his brother. She and Charlie had talked about starting something again, but it seemed the time had passed. They were in different places in life, and while he still made her heart race, it always brought back the bad memories as well. The last thing Hermione wanted was to be the cause of another wedge in the family she loved almost as dearly as her own.

Charlie was still one of her dearest friends, and if he needed a date for an event, he always called her, and she likewise. They were there for each other whenever needed, to provide a shoulder, a hug, or other comforts.

In her bones, she believed that someday, she would still wind up with Charlie. It might be many years down the road, but part of her heart belonged to him.

All the men she had dated since him fell vastly short when compared to him. Her parents knew this, and seemed to accept, as she had, that one day their daughter would marry the older Weasley.

Whenever a new bloke came into the picture, they listened patiently while Hermione got excited, went on a few dates, and then inevitably would pop into their den one evening with a frown on her face. "He's not Charlie," she would say, and curl up in her mother's arms.

"I know what you're thinking," Hermione said hurriedly. "But this one is … different." That was quite an understatement. She had given a lot of thought about telling her parents the truth about what she was doing with Malfoy, but then she would remember the look on his face when he'd said "Please." She couldn't betray his confidence at this point. So they would be led to believe she was seeing him, as would all the other people in her life.

"How so?" asked Elizabeth.

"He's … well, he's very different from anyone I've ever gone out with. I've known him most of my life, actually." _He was a Death Eater; he's the one who introduced me to the hate and malevolence in the wizarding world_.

"Do we know him?" asked Thomas with a frown.

"No," she replied. "But you're heard of him. It's Draco Malfoy."

"The young man who—" began Thomas.

"I know what he's done, but remember what I've told you about his life. His parents, their involvement with the Death Eaters, what he was forced to do when he was only sixteen. I saw him a few weeks ago, for the first time in years, and he seems genuinely changed. A different man."

"I certainly hope so," her father said. "One wrong move and I'll have words with him, magic or no."

Hermione laughed at the image of her father fighting with Draco. "I know, Dad. I don't think there's anything to worry about. It's just tea, I don't even know if he'll ask me out again."

"Well, if he does, be sure to bring him by the house so we can meet him," chimed Elizabeth.

"Yes, Mum," she promised, smiling as she opened a cabinet to pull out three plates.

"Do you like him?" Elizabeth asked.

Hermione thought for a moment. The quick and easy answer was yes, since she was supposedly going out with him. However, she allowed herself a moment to really consider the question and smiled at the memory of their conversation on her portable sofa. "I think there's potential," she said finally, leaving the kitchen to set the table in the adjacent dining room.

**ooo**

Hermione left her parents' house at two in the afternoon. They had eaten an early lunch, and her parents had an appointment with friends. She had a few errands to run in Diagon Alley, but she would wait until after her meeting with Malfoy. With a little over two hours remaining, she didn't want to return to Hogwarts, but she didn't want to remain in their home alone.

It occurred to her that she hadn't given any thought to what she would wear to tea with Malfoy, and she groaned when she realized she would have to return to the castle in order to change. She decided to go visit Ginny and use her fireplace to get back into her room.

The Potters lived in Ottery St. Catchpole, in a quaint little home off the main road through the village. Ginny had wanted to be close to her family, while Harry had wanted a place to call his own, and the village near the Burrow was the ideal compromise.

Hermione knocked on the dark brown door and soon it was opened by James, Harry and Ginny's two-year-old son.

She knelt to look him in the eye. "Hello, James. Is your Mum around?"

"Right here," said Ginny, appearing in the doorway. She grabbed James' hand, and then smiled at her friend. "Hermione! What brings you here? Harry isn't here; he had a meeting with Minerva."

"I know," she said, stepping into the hallway of the cozy cottage as Ginny opened the door. "That's partly why I'm here. I could use your help."

"Sure," said Ginny, picking up her son. "Have a seat in the living room. I'll just put him in the pen. Would you like something to drink? Tea?" she asked when she was out of the room.

"No, thank you," Hermione called.

She stood in the living room and smiled. Two comfy sofas sat against the two interior walls, and an old chest sat under the large front window. Pictures of their family, immediate and extended, covered the walls and other horizontal surfaces, including the hearth of the large fireplace. The colors were warm and the room was inviting.

"All right," said Ginny, returning to the room and taking a seat on one of the sofas. "What's on your mind?"

Hermione knew that with Ginny, the best way to deliver news was to say it all up front and then wait for the questions to begin. She took a deep breath and said most of the news. "I have a date in about two hours and I don't know what to wear."

Ginny's eyes widened. "A date? Since when do you come to me for help with what to wear?"

"This … this date is a little different than the ones I'm used to. I'm afraid I'm in uncharted territory this time."

"Who is it?" Ginny asked, moving into task-oriented mode. "I have to know that. Oh, and what does the date entail? You said it's in a couple of hours; are you meeting for tea? Where? Indoors or out?"

"Yes, it's tea. Diagon Alley, _Tea Leaves and Thyme_. I'm not sure about seating, but if I had to wager a guess, I would say outdoors."

"Wow, Hermione, that's the nicest tea shop in London! You've left off the name of the bloke, though, don't think I hadn't noticed," Ginny said with a pointed look.

Hermione sighed. "I know, and I'm getting to that. It's … Malfoy."

Ginny stared at her friend, and then slowly smiled. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

"Really?" Hermione said, incredulous. "It sure surprised me."

"Well, I caught the way he was looking at you over lunch that first time he came to Quidditch. OH!" Ginny bounced in her seat from excitement. "Wear that white sundress! He snuck looks at you every other second in that dress!"

Hermione was confused. It wasn't a real date, and Malfoy didn't have a real attraction to her, so Ginny must have been imagining things. She couldn't imagine Draco looking at her in any special way that day, as it had been before they'd begun to reconnect. Besides, she hadn't changed all that much over the years, and Draco had always made it clear in school that he had found her quite ugly. True, it was a long time ago, but she didn't think he would change so drastically.

She shook her head. "No, that can't be right, Ginny. Besides, it's too cool to wear that dress now."

"Wear a cardigan with it," Ginny said. "And if you don't believe me, watch his face when he sees you."

"I don't know … I certainly can't wear those sandals now."

"I'll be right back." Ginny hopped off the sofa and practically ran out of the room. She returned after a few minutes with a shoebox. "Trust me. Don't argue. Magick them to fit you; they're perfect."

Hermione warily accepted the box and then opened the lid. Inside was a pair of red, open-toe pumps with what had to be a three-inch heel. "Ginny!" she exclaimed, hastily putting the lid back. "Are you serious? I can't wear those! Those are … are …"

"They're 'I know you want me' shoes. I know. The first time I wore them for Harry—"

"No, thank you. I don't need that information."

Ginny thrust the box back at Hermione. "Take them. They're perfect."

She wanted to exclaim that she didn't need for anything to be perfect, because Malfoy didn't really like her and it wasn't a real date. However, it occurred to her that it was supposed to _look_ like a real date, for anyone who might be watching, and that if Malfoy questioned her, she could always claim that as the reason for her attire. She was supposed to look like she wanted him to notice her, and those red shoes would certainly do the trick.

As she took the box from Ginny, something hit her. "Why are you so okay with this? It's bloody Malfoy, remember?"

Ginny shrugged. "I know. Harry insists that I be supportive of him. I don't know why, Harry swore he wouldn't tell a soul, but I think it has to do with Lucius Malfoy. Harry was there, you know, when Lucius was released from prison."

"I read about Harry being there, but it slipped my mind." Hermione said, frowning. "Why was he there?"

"No one knows. Dad told me that Harry gave Lucius a box. That's all I know. Harry didn't even tell me that much, nor have I seen any strange boxes in all the years we've been together."

"How odd!"

"Indeed. And, you know, he was nice enough when we hung out with him those times. I felt awful about what Ron said, but that's Ron. He speaks before he thinks, and he's got such a short temper."

"You're the best, Ginny," Hermione said, shrinking the shoebox to fit in her purse. Her thoughts were whirring once again. Did Malfoy's task have anything to do with the box Harry gave Lucius? "I should get going; I've got to get back to school and get ready."

Ginny smiled. "You are most welcome. I want all the details immediately, if not sooner. Does Harry or Ron know?"

"No. I'd rather wait to tell them. This could be nothing, and I don't want anyone getting upset over it."

Ginny walked Hermione to the fireplace. "Listen to this, Hermione. Really hear me. Do not let Ron ruin this. If this thing with Malfoy is something good, something you want, don't let Ron do what he did with Charlie."

"But it's not the same," Hermione said.

"No, Malfoy isn't Ron's brother, but he has strong feelings about him nonetheless. He obviously isn't interested in listening to Harry about giving Malfoy a chance. He won't be happy about you dating him, either. Just … if you want to be with Malfoy, be with him."

"Thank you, Ginny. I'm glad I have your support." Hermione hugged her friend. "Ron could certainly make things difficult again, couldn't he?"

Ginny nodded. "Details," she said, handing Hermione the jar of Floo powder. "Minute details. The thread count of the napkins, minute, okay?"

Hermione smiled and stepped into the fireplace. "I'll be sure to ask the waiter about that. Bye, Ginny."

Once she arrived in her quarters, she threw open her closet. The white sundress was clean, thankfully, but she stared at it, still unsure, still wary at the thought of Malfoy finding her attractive. Did she want to think about the date possibly being real, not just for show? He had been extremely charming and interested when they'd spoken during the Quidditch game he'd sat out. His smile had released tiny butterflies in her stomach, and his intelligence had impressed her. It was clear that he spent a lot of time thinking and reading, and she found that highly attractive. Under normal circumstances, these attributes were enough for her to go out with a man if he asked.

Hermione shook her head. It would be dangerous to forget the reality of the situation: this was the first of three meetings designed to establish an alibi for her while helping him solve a problem—nothing more, nothing less. Regardless of the butterflies he inspired, despite the fact that she found him attractive, that came first and foremost. Still, she would look the part.

Hermione pulled a red cardigan from the closet to match the shoes and got dressed. She pulled half of her hair up and clipped it with a red bow, then put on a string of pearls her mother had given her for her twenty-fifth birthday. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she smiled. She felt slightly over-dressed—what if he showed up in jeans?—but she certainly would give off the feeling that she was trying to impress her companion. And that was what mattered.

Before she could change her mind, Hermione grabbed her purse, threw on an outer cloak, and Floo'd to the Leaky Cauldron, requesting permission to come through. It was granted, and she quickly made her way through the pub and out the back. Two bricks up, three down, and she stepped into Diagon Alley.

Hermione glanced at her watch, which she had tossed in her purse, and saw that she had fifteen minutes before her scheduled meeting time with Malfoy. She decided to take Ginny's advice and watch his face when he first saw her. That would mean getting to their table first and watching for him, so she headed directly for the tea shop.

Tea Leave and Thyme was set back from the road, and there were twenty-two tables outside, surrounded by a short fence. An awning could be extended in poor weather, though Hermione suspected it was mostly for looks. Most of the tables were occupied when she approached the man standing at the door beside a podium.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm meeting someone here at four; he said we had a reservation."

"Name, please?"

"Malfoy." Without thinking, Hermione glanced around to see if anyone had heard her. No one was paying her any attention.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Malfoy contacted us just a few minutes ago and said he would be late, but to seat you right away. Everything has been arranged; follow me."

Hermione nodded and the maître d' led her through a short gate, and then through the maze of tables to one situated near the café, away from the main road. He pulled out the chair facing the front and she sat.

"Here is your tea menu, Miss Granger. Your waiter will be with your shortly."

She thanked him, and then glanced at the menu, though she had no intention of ordering until Draco had joined her. When the waiter approached, she ordered water and asked him to return when her companion had joined her.

While she waited, Hermione took in her surroundings. The outdoor seating area was surrounded on one side by the café, another side by a tall, brick wall with vines nearly covering it, and the other two sides by the low fence. The tables were covered with white tablecloths, and at her place was a beautiful set of china with a pattern of tiny yellow flowers. When she glanced at what would be Draco's place, she saw an entirely different set of china. His plate, teacup and saucer had scalloped edges with a silver band for accent.

By the time four came and went, the entire outdoor seating area was full. Hermione found herself growing nervous as the minutes passed. Would they be watched during their meal? Or had Malfoy simply wanted them to be seen by enough people that the person of interest would hear about it?

At precisely quarter after four, Draco appeared at the podium. Hermione was grateful for her unobstructed view and a few moments to take him in. He looked dashing, dressed in a dark grey suit, a white shirt with pale blue and green stripes with the top button undone, and a contrasting, patterned tie. His hair looked strategically tousled, which surprised her. She had expected it to be impeccable, but found him even more attractive than before. He wasn't above looking a little disheveled when he went out in public, and it made him more approachable, more … real.

He spoke to the maître d', who then pointed to where Hermione was sitting. She had been sure to sit so that he would see the dress, her body angled away from the table, one leg crossed over the other. Her heart was pounding as Draco followed the man's line and his eyes met hers. She gave him a small wave and he continued staring, his eyes burning through hers, oblivious to the maître d', who had been talking to him the entire time.

Their gaze broke as Draco's attention was finally won by the short man, and Hermione feared her heart would jump out of her body. Ginny had been right! He certainly seemed affected by seeing her. Whether or not the dress was the cause remained to be seen.

Hermione watched as Draco made his way through the tables toward her, an over cloak tossed casually over one arm, his other hand in his pocket. When he reached their table, he smiled, in apparent control of his reactions. She didn't feel the same intensity from his gaze as she had moments before.

"I'm sorry I was late," he said, sitting down. "My meeting ran over. Thank you for waiting."

"It was no problem," she said, feeling oddly disappointed that his eyes had lost their fire.

"Have you ordered?" he asked, picking up his menu.

"No, I was waiting for you."

"You didn't have to do that," he said, glancing at her.

"My tea would already be cold if I hadn't."

The waiter came over then and took their orders. Hermione selected an exotic herbal tea to begin, while Draco chose Earl Grey.

"I'm surprised at your order," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "Out of all the choices, unusual teas from all over the world, you choose a home-grown variety."

He shrugged. "I know what I like."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say to that, and bit her lip, trying to think of something interesting to talk about. She couldn't believe she was nervous about a fake date! "What was your meeting about?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and smiled bemusedly. "Do you really want to know?"

"We are supposed to be getting to know each other, aren't we?" she teased, straightening in her chair and trying to force her thoughts into project-mode.

"You're right," he agreed.

The waiter returned with their tea, food and accoutrements, and then left without a word.

Hermione's eyes widened at the three-tiered display, and she looked at Draco. "I thought we had yet to order?"

"When I arrived, I requested two of everything they offered in the Full Tea. This way we don't have to pour over the tedious menu for twenty minutes, trying to decide what we want."

She looked back at the food and laughed. "I still can't decide what I want!"

On the bottom plate was a colorful array of savories, some she recognized, some she didn't. The second plate was nearly spilling over with a variety of scones: lemon, poppy seed, raspberry and plain. The third tier was a beautiful assortment of fresh fruit.

On an additional plate was a selection of sweets, including small helpings of tarts and cakes. Lemon curd, strawberry, blackberry and apricot jam, clotted cream, milk and sugar completed the array.

Draco said nothing, so she glanced at him. His eyes were once again on fire, and she shivered in the cool, autumn air, but blamed the intensity of his stare.

She was suddenly very aware of herself, and of him. Everything blurred and all she could do was stare back with wonder.

Just as she began to feel like she might burn up under his scrutiny, he broke the moment by turning his attention to the offerings as though nothing had happened. He quickly selected three sandwiches and a scone. As he applied a generous helping of lemon curd, he said, in an offhand manner without looking at her, "You look stunning this afternoon, Hermione."

She had been about to reach for a raspberry scone when he spoke, and she froze, her hand mid-air. He finished spreading the curd on his scone and ate it very deliberately, glancing around at the other patrons before finally meeting her stunned gaze.

"The raspberry is an excellent choice," he said, smirking.

Hermione blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him and reached for a poppy seed scone. He chuckled, his voice deep and smooth.

"My meeting was the monthly Budget Committee meeting. I sat for nearly five hours listening to old wizards drone on and on about numbers. Some were higher than last month, some lower, and they had detailed action plans for how to make those lower numbers go up for next month."

"Sounds terribly exciting," she teased, brushing aside the remnants of delightful tremors and focusing on their conversation.

"Oh, it was." He chuckled lightly. "It was scheduled to end at three, but one of the branches of the company had a major set-back this month, and the manager of that branch went into excruciating detail about what had happened, what had been done to solve the problem, and what would be done to ensure it didn't happen again."

"You weren't aware of this set-back before today? That seems … irresponsible of that manager."

Draco's expression flicked from surprise to bemusement. "Indeed. As it happens, I was aware of the problem, but I still require my managers to give a full accounting, not just to me but to each other. Still, that was the cause for the meeting running late, and you'd said you wished to know. I thought it would irresponsible of me to withhold this piece of information."

"Oh," she said, feeling heat creep into her cheeks at the amusement in his voice. "Yes, well—"

"Are you truly interested in the way I run my business?" he asked, his voice curious.

"I … well … honestly, yes," she said, confidently meeting his eyes. "I read an article about you in _Magical Business_, where you described some of the changes you made from the way your father ran things, and it was fascinating. I found myself wondering about your reasons, your motives behind the changes, because it sounded as though your father had a much more dictatorial method, whereas you have opted for surrounding yourself with wise and experienced people and gaining as much information from them as possible before making decisions. Which, in my opinion, is a very good approach."

She bit her lip, worried that she was rambling.

His eyes were shining, all teasing amusement gone, as he poured himself another cup of tea. "Fascinating," he whispered. Then, in a full voice, queried, "Did you seek out this journal? Or are you one of the unlucky few who subscribe to it?"

"You're not the only one who is thorough with research," she quipped, a cheeky smirk ghosting her lips.

This time he gave her a full, warm smile, which sent a cascade of butterflies colliding through her stomach.

"I wouldn't expect anything less of you." Draco carefully selected a grape from the fruit plate. Just before popping it into his mouth, he said, "And that's precisely why I've come to you."

The reality of the situation crashed through her; they were out together in order to be seen. There was no ulterior reason. Again, she felt disappointed. There were many things she found she wanted to know about the man sitting across from her, but there was a line between them. She wasn't sure where it was, if it was solid or flexible, thick or dotted. He had just reminded her of the line, so she must have gotten too close to it.

Hermione glanced around the café and the street, looking to see if someone was obviously staring. To her surprise, quite a few people seemed interested. When she turned back to Draco, he was watching her.

"Are we … do you think that the person or persons this whole thing is for are here? Watching?"

He scowled, then sighed. "Most likely not. Precautions."

"Then why are so many people interested?"

"In all of your excellent research, surely you deduced that I do not generally go out on dates with beautiful and extraordinary women. The fact that I am out with you … and probably more that _you_ are out with _me_, is bound to send old witches into gossip fits."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "On the contrary, I saw plenty of evidence suggesting otherwise."

"Business functions do not count. Etiquette requires I take a partner, and I do. They are not dates, and I make that quite clear to the women involved," he explained.

"They are certainly beautiful. I suppose my being seen with you will prove an interesting conundrum to those gossipmongers."

Draco looked at her with narrowed eyes. "If you're fishing for something, it won't work."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said honestly.

"I've already said twice what I think of you. If you want to hear it again, I suggest you replay this afternoon in a Pensieve."

She reddened, feeling anger rising with the embarrassment. "I'm certainly not hunting for compliments, Malfoy. All I meant was that when compared with all of them, I clearly fall very short, and it will be noticed."

He held her gaze, his expression impassive, for a few heated moments. Then he smiled, though it was clearly forced. "We're here to get to know each other. I will give you two things without making you work for them. One, I don't give out compliments lightly. Two, I don't make a habit of lying. I have found that not only is it bad for business, but it can come back to bite me in the arse."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"Here's a bit of advice that will, if taken to heart, make this easier. Don't presume to understand me or my motives. Whatever you think you know about me, whatever you have deduced based on who I was as a child, please let go of it. Get to know me, who I am right now. Then, if you still wish, you may make asinine insinuations about me, so long as they are based on fact."

She stared at him, and then bit her lip. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll give you a couple freebies to even things out. I don't take compliments well, especially if they are about my appearance. I meant what I said a few weeks ago. You are an intimidating man, and my natural reaction is to lash out when I feel cornered or out of my element. Which I certainly feel around you," she added quietly.

His features softened and he ran a hand through his hair, leaving it more disheveled than before. "We have a lot of history behind us. It takes effort to remember that you aren't the girl you were at thirteen. But I've decided it's worth that effort."

Hermione smiled, genuinely touched. "Thank you."

Draco exhaled. "We've done a number to the food. Would you like anything else?"

As Hermione considered the question, the world around her, which had seemed to fade away while they were talking, reappeared, and the sights, sounds and smells of the café and the street came rushing back to assault her senses. People were talking, carts were being rolled along the cobblestone street, door chimes were sounding, dishes clinking.

"No, I'm finished," she said, dabbing her lips with the napkin. Ginny's comment from earlier in the day came to mind, and she stared at her napkin, smiling to herself. In vain, she searched for a tag that might give the threat-count.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked.

"Looking for something. Never mind. Have you told anyone? About us, I mean?" she asked, thinking he should know that she had told people.

"No," he said curtly.

"I have. I hope that's all right."

His eyes were speculative as they searched her face. Then he shrugged and poured himself another cup of tea. "They'd find out sooner or later." He took a sip from his drink and frowned, then signaled. Their waiter appeared beside the table almost instantly.

"How can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.

"I would like coffee, please," said Draco. "Strong." He looked at Hermione. "Anything for you?"

"No, thank you."

The waiter left and returned quickly with the requested item. Draco poured a cup, took a swallow, and nodded approvingly. "Much better. Who have you told?"

"Ginny and my parents."

His gaze darted to hers, alarm evident on his face. "Your _parents_?"

"Yes," she said boldly. "They said to bring you by, if things progress. Why?"

Draco shook his head, chuckling. "I hadn't considered that I would meet your parents as part of this. Though, now that you mention it, it makes perfect sense. I'm surprised you haven't told Potter and Weasley too."

"I'm still working on getting to that," she admitted. "They won't take it as well as Ginny. At least, Ron won't for sure."

"I'm concerned about that, to be honest. I don't want him making this hard for you."

She smiled, surprised that he was concerned about her. "He'll behave. I'll probably bring you round the Burrow as well, at some point. Depending on how long this goes."

"That inevitability I had considered. I've nothing against spending time with your friends."

"Likewise," she said, though the thought made her uneasy. She didn't know who his friends were and couldn't begin to speculate what spending time with them would entail.

An amused smile played on his lips. "I'll keep that in mind." Draco finished his cup of coffee and set his napkin on his plate. "Shall we make this a proper date? Care for a stroll along the alley? Give more people a chance to see us together?"

"Oh! Well, I suppose that would be all right."

He stood and gathered his cloak, then held a hand out to her. She stared at it for a brief moment before accepting it, and then he pulled her up. She thought he would let her hand go, but he only repositioned his hand to grasp hers tighter as he led her out of the café.

The contact was intense; she couldn't believe the reactions it caused inside her. Not only was her heart thumping in her chest, but the butterflies had discovered gun powder and cannonballs.

They walked at a leisurely pace, talking mainly about what they saw around them. Hermione completed her errands, and even though she was used to people paying her attention, she had forgotten what it was like to be openly gawked at. A couple of people nearly fell over things, they were so blatantly staring. Hermione was happy when they reached the empty end of the street.

"That was brutal!" she exclaimed, pulling her hand from his and then clenching and re-clenching her fists.

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded. "That's far more attention than I'm used to, as well."

"Did you see that woman nearly spill her cauldron?" An amused grin crept across her face.

He chuckled. "What about the man who walked right into a pole? I nearly laughed out loud at that."

"Oh! Me too!" she said, feeling her frazzled nerves unwind just a bit. "I had to bite my lip."

"I think you squeezed my hand a bit there as well."

"Did it hurt? I'm sorry, I didn't even realize."

"No," he said, his voice soft and smooth. "It didn't hurt."

Hermione's breath hitched and she realized she wouldn't mind if he kissed her. Then she remembered for what felt like the hundredth time that day that they weren't on a real date, and he wasn't really interested in her. Despite his compliments, despite the way he looked at her, she was sure it was all part of the act. Even if what Ginny had said was true, he had probably been planning this the entire time. He had probably wanted someone to see him look at her that way. He was simply very, very good at acting.

"I should get going," Hermione said.

"Yeah," he said, glancing back down the street. "When would be a good time to have lunch next week?"

"Oh, that's right. Let me think … Wednesday I've got a large open block around lunchtime. Does that work for you?"

"It will have to. I'll rearrange what I must. What do you say to the _Three Broomsticks_, at noon?"

"Perfect," she said.

"Excellent." He turned to look at her then, fire once again in his eyes. "Thank you for this."

"I'm not just doing it for you," she asserted, reminding both him and herself of the fact.

"Don't think I'll forget that fact," he said. "I should probably mention that I saw one or two people with cameras, so your friends might find out sooner than you would like."

Hermione groaned. "That means I'll have to tell them tonight if I don't want them to read about it in the paper. Why must you be so mysterious and rich and striking that everyone wants to know your business?"

Draco appeared taken aback at first by her compliment. Then he smiled lazily at her. "You've only yourself to blame," he replied, taking her hand and kissing it as he had the day before. "Au revoir, Hermione."

She watched him throw his cloak around his shoulders and Disapparate, then cursed him for leaving her breathless two days in a row.

**ooo**

**A****/N:** Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this week's installment. See you next week! Title taken from "The Blower's Daughter" by Damian Rice. This song was originally in the playlist for this chapter until I discovered "First Date" while searching for a title. The name "Evan" for the Gryffindor boy was inspired by manda's son. MWAH!

**Art credit**: The lovely manip for this chapter was done by the fabulous watertart_11 on LiveJournal. Music credit goes to lj user=inadaze22.

**Beta thanks**: I have an awesome group of betas who complement each other well and always give me something to think about. They help me make this story better, and I am endlessly thankful to each of them. So, thank yous are due to manda, z, pokeystar, and drcjsnider.


	9. Hold your breath, little lungs

**Note: **I rarely respond directly to reviews in my chapters. I have learned through this business that it's impossible to please everyone with every chapter. The main reason I'm responding here is because both reviews I'd like to address were left by anonymous readers, and so I cannot respond directly.

To "Blech": Draco Malfoy in this story is an imperfect man. He will not always do what people want him to do, and he won't apologize for it.

To "Confused": On your first point, you misunderstand. Yes, he has to be tight with money, but he is only promising Hermione the research lab if they are successful in bringing down the blackmailer, in which case Draco would no longer be under financial strain.

On your second point, that of the plebian nature of the blackmailing, you fail to grasp the full weight of the situation. Before the letter with the pictures of his mother, the consequence of Draco not cooperating was extended prison time for his father. The pictures, however, could [1] ruin his parents' marriage; [2] REALLY hurt his mom if they were made public; and [3] ruin business. Plus, there is no forseeable end in sight, whereas before, Draco thought the blackmailing would end with his father's release. As for "is that it?" I certainly can't answer that.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 9**** - - **Hold your breath, little lungs

**- - -**

Hermione gathered her courage as she stood on the porch outside the Potter's house. She had written to Ginny immediately following her date with Draco, asking her to invite Ron over under the guise of celebrating her birthday, which was the following day. She had to tell her friends the truth before they found out from the _Daily Prophet_, or worse, from someone who had seen them together earlier that afternoon.

Steeling herself, Hermione knocked.

Harry opened the door and beamed. "Hey, Hermione. Happy early twenty-fifth!" He wrapped her in a crushing hug. "Come in, come in. It was a nice surprise, having the four of us for dinner," he said as he led her to the kitchen.

"Yeah," she said, hoping she sounded as excited as he did.

"Hermione's here," he announced.

Ginny gave her a significant look, and Ron grinned.

"Hi all," she greeted, taking off her coat and setting it with her purse on a chair.

"Dinner will be ready in a bit," said Ginny. "Why don't you three go and talk in the living room? Harry, take the bottle of wine I put in the fridge. Ron, here are some appetizers. James is in bed already, so don't be too loud."

"Sure thing," said Harry, kissing Ginny on the head.

Hermione followed the men out, sending Ginny a silent 'thank you' and 'help' all rolled into one look.

Harry poured the wine for the three of them, and then he and Ron took a small sip. Hermione finished her entire serving in three gulps. Ron gaped at her.

"All right, Hermione?" he asked.

"I have news," she said, wanting to get the confession—and the outrage to follow—over with. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "I'm seeing someone."

Ron frowned. "That's a good thing, right?. Why are you nervous, Hermione?"

She glanced at Harry, who was looking at her intently, though without the puzzled element that Ron was sporting. As she held his gaze, his eyes narrowed slightly, then widened. "Harry," she began.

"Really?" he asked, his tone incredulous and surprised.

"What are you thinking?" She didn't want to presume she knew what conclusion he'd reached, even though the look in his eyes confirmed that he was thinking about Draco.

"What are you two on about?" said Ron, frustrated.

Hermione stared intently at Harry for a few more seconds until he sighed resignedly and looked away with a shrug. Then she turned to Ron. "It's Malfoy. I've started seeing him. We met today for tea."

Ron's face went from frustration to anger and disgust. "Ugh, Hermione! How could you possibly like him?"

"He's not the same person he was," she argued, the answer long prepared. "He's changed a lot, and if you'd give him a chance, you would at least see that. I'm not asking for you to be friends, but I'll probably bring him around sometime. Just … be civil, and don't start anything, or bring up the past, or accuse him of things."

Ron shook his head and looked at Harry. "You knew?"

"No," said Harry. "There was just something about the way she was acting. The way he looked at her at the last Quidditch game. I guessed."

"And you're all right with it?" Ron asked, incredulous.

Harry hesitated before answering. "Honestly … I'm not exactly thrilled, but I have tried to be friendly to Malfoy. I don't think he has a lot of people in his life he can count on, if any. Just be careful, Hermione. I want to say that I trust him, but I can't. We're a long way from that."

Hermione sent Harry a grateful look, relieved that Harry was at least listening and somewhat open.

Ron stood and started pacing the room, still angry. "But it's Malfoy! He was such an enormous git in school! He's a … a Death Eater, a bloody sniveling coward! Remember him?"

"Ron," Harry cautioned.

"That's who he _was_, Ron, not who he _is_." Hermione crossed her arms, mentally preparing for a fight. "Please, just accept this, and don't make this harder on me."

He stopped where he was and met Hermione's pleading gaze. His face softened and he went to her side. "Oh, Hermione. I don't want to be difficult. I made a right mess of things once, and … well, I won't do it again. I … I trust you, and I'll be civil, and I'll try to understand."

"Oh, Ron!" She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. When she pulled away, Ron was looking at her funny. "What?"

"How long have you two been … together?" He said the words as though they tasted like dragon dung.

"Well, we just went on our first date today, and—"

"No details without me!" called Ginny from the kitchen. "You lot come on in here, dinner is ready."

Hermione told them as much as she could without giving anything away about the true nature of her association with Draco and without providing Harry and Ron with too much information. They didn't want to hear her describe, as she later did for Ginny, the way Draco had looked at her when he first saw her (at which point, Ginny exclaimed, "I told you so!"), or the way it felt when he smiled at her. Still, Hermione didn't go into too much detail, even with Ginny, because she wanted to keep a few things for herself and because while talking about it, she felt herself getting caught up as though it was the beginning of a real relationship.

When she lay in bed that night, trying to go to sleep, she realized that her heart was already involved. It had happened so quickly she hadn't even noticed; otherwise she would have tried to fight it. Draco was wonderful company and stimulating conversation, but he ignited a fire in her that was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. It was similar to what she'd felt for Charlie when they were their happiest, but yet completely different. She couldn't pinpoint the reason for this occurrence with Draco, and it was unsettling.

Fortunately, Hermione still had the option of backing out of their agreement. He had said that up to when he told her about the task, she could walk away. If she got in too deep, if she feared she would get her heart entangled or broken, she would end their association before he told her anything.

She hoped that she would be able to work with him, since he had seemed desperate and was convinced that she was the only person who could help him.

**ooo**

Hermione received many well-wishes on her birthday, both from students and teachers. Her parents sent her a new set of inks—Hawthorne, her favorite—and Hagrid baked an inedible cake for her. George sent her a trick card, a prototype for a line of joke greeting cards, that was stuck shut and made fun of her for being too weak to pry open two pages of parchment.

Most surprising, however, was the heavy package she received just before dinner. It was sharply wrapped in dark blue paper and white ribbon. Puzzled, she opened the accompanying card.

_Hermione,_

_I hope you don't already own this, and that it might be of some use to you very soon. I look forward to seeing you again._

_Draco_

Excited and stunned, Hermione carefully removed the paper to reveal _Turlington's Complete Guide to Flora, Fifteenth Edition_, a four-volume set of books considered to be the definitive resource on plant-based potions ingredients. It had been on her wish list for years, but was too expensive for her salary.

At first, she was thrilled, then reluctant to accept the gift. It was far too much for their situation—it was too much even if they were truly dating. She would have to discuss the matter with him when they met for lunch later in the week … but it certainly couldn't hurt to peek through the books until then.

**ooo**

Monday afternoon, at ten minutes to two, Hermione sat in her classroom going over the list of groups she had formed. She had decided to put Evan with Sheetal after having tea with Draco. At the thought of what might have been possible, were their circumstances different, Hermione felt strongly that she should help Evan out in the only way she could. If nothing materialized, then perhaps it wasn't meant to be.

Samaya Black entered the classroom first and after depositing her bag on her desk, approached Hermione's desk.

"Afternoon, Professor," she said, a smug look on her face.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Hello, Samaya."

Then the Slytherin placed something on the desk and Hermione's eyes widened. She hastily picked up the most recent edition of Witch Weekly, staring in slight horror at the picture on the front. She was holding hands with Draco, walking down Diagon Alley. The Draco in the picture would lean over and whisper in her ear, and her picture self would laugh. As they walked, her arm brushed against his and she remembered the feeling she'd gotten as though he was right there, and it had just happened again.

Hermione shut her eyes tight, hoping against hope that the image before her would disappear when she opened them. It didn't, and she watched the image repeat.

"Merlin, he's so handsome," said Samaya, who had moved around Hermione's desk to stare at the rag over her shoulder. "He's not that much older than me," she said.

"You are related," Hermione said disapprovingly, placing the magazine face down on her desk.

"Distantly." Samaya, laughed. "Keep it. You should read the article."

The rest of the class filtered into the room then, taking their usual seats with their friends. Samaya sat down, a pleased look on her face. Hermione could tell that all of her students had seen the magazine. The girls were whispering to each other and glancing toward their teacher, while the boys were staring at her. Evan, especially, was giving her a hard, appraising look.

"Well, it's Monday," Hermione began, leaning on the front of her desk. "How did you enjoy your weekend?"

Six hands shot into the air, and Hermione called on Ketty first.

"Is it true you went on a date with the wizarding world's most eligible bachelor?"

Hermione felt her face flush, and indicated Karalynn, who also had her hand raised.

"Did he kiss you?" she asked.

Flustered, Hermione ignored both questions. "Does anyone want to tell me about their weekend?" No one said a word and a few people shook their head. "Fine. We'll just move on with the lesson then, shall we?"

As she rounded her desk to get her notes, no one made a move to retrieve their books. Half the class started whispering, and Hermione thought she saw a few of them with copies of _Witch Weekly_ tucked in their packs. Samaya simply grinned.

"All right." She flicked her wand and it beeped loudly. When everyone was facing forward again, Hermione sighed. "You aren't going to pay attention to anything I say today, are you?"

"No, ma'am," smirked Samaya.

"If we talk about this, get it out in the air, will you promise to work extra hard the rest of the period?"

They nodded enthusiastically, and a few of the boys slumped in their chairs, getting more comfortable.

Hermione rarely discussed her personal life with her students, but her seventh-year class was different. It always had been, though she'd never had anything quite so interesting to share with them. She tried to treat them like adults, since most of them already were by wizarding standards. It made for a very pleasant classroom experience for everyone.

She sat on the front of her desk and looked at her students, all gazing at her, their attention rapt. "To answer your question, Ketty, yes, I went on a date with Draco Malfoy."

"Yeah!" cried Corey, pumping his fist. "Way to go, Professor Granger!"

Hermione couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Did he kiss you?" Karalynn repeated, leaning forward on her desk, a dreamy look on her face. "He's so good-looking."

Ketty, Sheetal and Samaya agreed wholeheartedly.

"No. It was only our first date."

"Will there be others?" Samaya asked without waiting to be called on.

"It's safe to say there will be," Hermione answered. An odd mixture of feelings flitted through her heart, and she was again reminded that she needed to be very careful to protect it from harm. Draco had been so charming and open on their date, that she found herself constantly forgetting that it wasn't real.

Then Evan tentatively raised his hand and Hermione gave him leave to speak. "Malfoy … he was in Slytherin, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was," she replied.

"And you were in Gryffindor." At Hermione's affirmative nod, he continued. "Do … do you think that will work all right?"

Hermione was infinitely pleased that this subject had been broached, and by a student, too. She hadn't needed to bring it up. Here was an excellent chance to discuss inter-house cooperation and the ridiculous stigma that existed on the subject of dating between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

"That's an interesting question, Evan. Draco and I are from the two houses of Hogwarts which have a reputation for enmity."

"No one's ever been in a relationship between those houses," said Sheetal. "What makes you think you and Draco Malfoy have a chance?"

Hermione considered the question carefully before responding. "Draco and I, as you know, come from a different time than you. We went through the war, we both fought, on different sides. You all know his story, I'm sure, but don't be hasty. The boy he was at sixteen is not the man he is today. He went through a lot of difficult things in his life, and he is truly a better person for it. I'm willing to give him a chance because I believe, in the end, he's worth it."

"Still, there's the house difference," said Corey.

"Yes, well." Hermione sighed. "Draco and I are no longer in school, and houses don't mean a whole lot to us. They are still of great importance to all of you, and I understand that. While we were here, we never would have considered each other, and I don't think that's right when based solely on house allegiance.

"The dissidence between Slytherin and Gryffindor stems back to the founders themselves. While Slytherin wanted to allow only those of pure blood into the school, Gryffindor and the others disagreed. It's really a shame that the two houses haven't tried to get along more in the past. I believe great things could be accomplished if all the houses worked together."

"Is it true what Sheetal said? That there's never been a relationship between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor?" asked Ketty.

Hermione smiled. "Think about it. This school was founded about a thousand years ago. For a millennium, students have walked these halls. Do you really think it's likely that in all that time, not _one_ Slytherin student was willing to risk his or her reputation to be with someone in Gryffindor?"

The students processed the information, whispering amongst themselves.

"Your generation," Hermione said, waving her wand over the room in general, "is in the best position to stand for change. To send a message to generations to come that old prejudices don't fit here anymore, that you are more interested in what makes a person than in a title given to them by an old hat."

Corey clapped heartily at the conclusion of Hermione's impassioned speech, and Samaya, Damian and Edgar joined him. "Nicely put, Professor," Corey said. "Right, so who wants to volunteer?"

The rest of the class, except Evan, laughed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not suggesting anyone volunteer. It's not a chore or an assignment. Merely something to think about. After all, you can't help who you're attracted to. The last thing I'll say on this topic is this. I should hope that house orientation would not prevent someone from pursuing a relationship, romantic or otherwise. Now, let's get to the subject at hand. Group assignments."

All eyes were on her as Hermione picked up the list from her desk. "When I call your names, I want you to move and sit with your new group. We'll do an exercise today that will incorporate your weekend homework."

Everyone gathered their things into manageable piles, ready to move seats.

"Group one: Corey, Damian, and Karalynn." The sound of scraping chairs followed as the three students moved to one corner of the room. "Group two: Evan, Sheetal, and Tom." Hermione refused to watch the reactions of her students, though with this particular group, she was immensely curious. "Finally, group three: Edgar, Ketty, and Samaya."

Hermione watched the final group form, and noted that Evan did not opt for a seat beside Sheetal. "Good, thank you. Now, I want you to spend the rest of the class period developing roles for each of you. Use your strengths and weaknesses to guide you. You can choose whatever roles you wish. An example might be a Lead Researcher, or Note-Taker. It all depends on the dynamics within your group."

While her students then settled into their new seats and pulled out their homework, she continued. "I know this is Arithmancy, but you will benefit from learning to work in a group, especially one where you are not familiar with your team members. More often than not, in your professional lives, you will be required to work as part of a group or team. Very few people go through life working by themselves. You may begin. I want your strengths and weaknesses, as well as your group's role list at the end of class."

There were no questions, so Hermione returned to her desk. As her students talked quietly, she couldn't help but glance at the magazine, still face down on her desk. Only eight minutes passed before she gave up and pulled it open, her curiosity raging.

"_It would appear that the wizarding world's most eligible and elusive bachelor has found happiness, writes Eliza Cuthbert, featured columnist. He was seen in Diagon Alley on Saturday with none other than Hermione Granger, war heroine and long-time rival of the Malfoy heir._

"_The couple—and we can truthfully announce this illustrious duo as a couple—took afternoon tea at the renowned _Tea Leaves and Thyme_. Miss Granger wore a white sundress, red cardigan, and matching red heels. Her bag was designed by Gwennette Greengrass, available for purchase at fine shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. _

"_Following a lengthy meal, where the couple was espied exchanging smiles, laughs, and longing looks, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy took a stroll down Diagon Alley, while Miss Granger completed a few errands._

"'_They came into my shop,' reports Arnold Rigsby, manager of Flourish and Blotts. 'She wanted to browse the shelves, and he followed. Very attentive, that Mr. Malfoy. Couldn't take his eyes off her the entire time.' _

Hermione stared at the words on the page. _Draco couldn't take his eyes off her?_ Well, he was certainly doing a very convincing job, then. People would have no doubts as to their relationship after reading the article. As she read, it continued to describe their entire walk, every store they went into, every purchase she made. Eliza Cuthbert had interviewed everyone who'd waited on them, and they all made similar remarks about Draco's 'attentiveness.'

Unwittingly, hope flared in her chest, and then she was forced to quash it. None of it was real, after all. Draco was an excellent actor, something else she hadn't known about him. The realization oddly disappointed her.

When the bell rang, Hermione returned the magazine to Samaya.

"I think he's even better looking in person than in pictures," she remarked, stuffing the rag into her pack. "Don't you?"

Hermione sighed, not wanting to express her true feelings on the matter, but realizing that she needed to do her own bit of convincing. "I agree," she said truthfully. "But it's not an everyday kind of attractiveness. He's got such strong lines and hard eyes sometimes."

Samaya grinned. "Still. You think he's gorgeous, admit it."

"His looks have never been called into question," Hermione said, gathering the stack of parchments her students had handed in. "But yes, I do." She winked at her student and left the room, grateful for the end of the day.

**ooo**

Draco had been in his office for five minutes on Wednesday morning when the door slammed, rattling on its hinges, and startled him. He glanced up, ready to rip into whoever had dared intrude on his morning in such a fashion, to see Pansy standing just inside the door, her arms crossed and a familiar item rolled in her hand.

"Morning, Pansy," Draco said, his anger evaporated. He poured himself a cup of coffee. "Can I get you anything? If I had known you were coming, I would have called for pastries."

Pansy marched to his desk and tossed the item down. It landed face up, and Draco was greeted once again with the picture of him and Hermione in Diagon Alley, hands linked.

"Explain," she demanded, taking a seat across from him.

It was obvious she wouldn't be leaving until she was answered to her satisfaction, and he had a meeting in fifty-five minutes that couldn't be moved. He hoped there was enough time to talk to her and still get his morning routine out of the way.

He shrugged. "What can I say?"

"Granger? Are you serious, Draco?" Pansy looked at him, frowning severely.

"What took you so long to come by? The issue was published on Sunday."

"I came back from my trip to Rome, _early_ I might add, so I could hear from your own mouth that this is just … rubbish. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. Please, Draco. Tell me this isn't true."

"It's true." Part of him delighted in the anticipation of how Pansy would further react. Already she'd bested his imagination's attempts to portray this eventuality.

Pansy groaned and closed her eyes as though he had just told her he had been diagnosed with a terminal disease. "What is the matter with you?" she asked, shaking her head. "Granger. Of all the … plain, mundane, _boring_ women in the world …. If you'd told me you wanted to meet someone completely dull, I could have sent dozens of witches your way."

Illusion or not, Draco didn't like the way Pansy was talking. "Careful, Pansy. Hermione is a very lovely woman. She's interesting, intelligent and—"

"Muggle-born," Pansy said flatly. "What will your parents say?"

He sneered. He knew exactly what they would say, since he had a letter from his mother tucked into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. "I don't care what they say."

Pansy's eyes were so wide Draco thought they might pop out at any moment.

"You don't …. Merlin, Draco. How did this happen? Granger?"

"You know I went to Quidditch one Saturday, at Potter's invitation. Well, Hermione was there. We spoke, and it was as though I'd never met her before, never hated her or called her awful names. I found her to be … well, breathtaking is the only word for it." Draco made a mental note to watch himself. He'd been attracted to Hermione before this whole thing started, and if he wasn't careful, he was liable to cross the line and forget that she was only spending time with him because he had recruited her help.

Pansy made a face. "But, it's Granger! She's the annoying know-it-all from school, how can you stand to be around her?"

"She's different," Draco said, glancing again at the magazine cover. He didn't think he would never tire of looking at it, or, specifically, her. When he had seen her that day, sitting at their table in the white dress, he had been frozen in amazement. Then when their eyes met, everything else faded had around him, leaving only the two of them. He hadn't been sure he would be able to get through the lunch date without giving himself away; by the end, he was certain that he had. Draco hadn't been ready for their time together to be over, so he had suggested the walk.

It had been too easy to pretend, to hold her hand, to whisper in her ear. Being with her had felt like the most natural thing in the world, as though he belonged by her side.

Draco was in deep trouble, and he knew it.

"Thank Merlin I got over you before this happened," Pansy said, examining her manicure. "Otherwise I think it might have killed me."

"Stop being so dramatic," Draco scolded. "It's not really that big a deal."

"No?" said Pansy quizzically. "I beg to differ, Mr. Malfoy. You: successful, rich, pure-blood. Her: famous, plain, Mudblood."

"Don't call her that," Draco barked, leaning forward and scowling at his friend. "If you ever use that word in my hearing again, we are no longer friends. Do you understand?"

Pansy watched him, unfazed. "You really do like her, don't you? Part of me thought it was some kind of act, though what you might stand to gain, I couldn't possibly guess. Fine, Draco. You like her, then it's fine with me."

He rolled his eyes and he settled back into his chair. "I certainly don't need your permission."

"True, but you could use my support. I'm not sure how many will stand by you through this. Have you considered how this could impact your standing? Your reputation? Your contacts and business relationships?"

"I'm not concerned about that," he said, despite the niggling feelings of doubt her words had planted inside him. Finding the blackmailer was his top priority, and he would take whatever penalties were incurred as a result of his methods, even if it meant losing a few clients along the way. "If people don't like my choices, they can speak with me directly," he said quietly.

Pansy bit her lip. "This is just so sudden, Draco. You haven't dated anyone in years, and then you show up with _her_ looking for all the world head over heels in love with her?"

He sighed. "Do I have your support or not, Pansy? I'm going to continue seeing her either way."

"Yes, of course," she huffed. "Does this mean I have to be nice to her?"

Draco laughed at that. "That's exactly what it means. Was there anything else?"

Pansy sniffed and fidgeted with the hem of her skirt.

"What is it?" Draco asked, preparing himself for something ridiculous.

"Have you … kissed her?"

The look on Pansy's face, one of mortified fascination, nearly made him laugh again, but then he considered her question. A kiss would certainly be expected at some point to make their relationship appear legitimate. The sensation he experienced—like a hundred cannons shot off in rapid succession and then left to bounce around his gut and chest—at merely holding her hand had nearly undone him.

If he kissed her …. He swallowed hard at the thought. Why did his body insist on reacting to her as though he had never been with a woman?

"Okay," said Pansy. "I don't want to know."

Draco reddened, embarrassed that the direction of his inner musings had been so obvious. "No, we haven't kissed."

"Obviously, that won't last long," Pansy said, smirking.

"Was there anything else you needed? I have a meeting to prepare for."

She glanced over his head, as though finding something out the window very interesting. "Oh, no. Nothing more about Granger, anyway."

"What is it?" he asked, noting with concern that only twenty-four minutes remained until his meeting. He generally needed at least twenty-eight for his morning schedule, but that was pushing it.

"Have you seen Greg lately?"

Draco blinked, surprised at the question. "No, not since he returned from Fiji. He's been very busy with those samples. Why?"

"No reason," Pansy said, standing and smoothing down her skirt. "Simply curious is all. Good luck with Granger, Draco. If she hurts you, I'll rip her hair out and strangle her with it."

"Thanks," Draco said, uneasy about the dangerous tone in Pansy's voice. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"Of course. Bye, Draco. You can keep the magazine," she said with a wink.

Pansy turned and left the room, leaving Draco alone. He picked up the weekly and stared at Hermione. All thoughts of work had been driven from his mind when Pansy mentioned his kissing Hermione, and that wouldn't do. He tossed the magazine into a drawer and forced himself to focus. His meeting was next, it would last until he left to meet Hermione for lunch, and he refused to be distracted.

**ooo**

Hermione wrapped her cloak around her as she exited the castle. The heavy doors closed behind her with a thud, and she walked down the front steps toward the gate. Beyond that, she would Apparate to Hogsmeade and make her way to the _Three Broomsticks_.

As she walked towards her destination, Hermione thought about her decision. The groups she had made were working out very well—at least, no one had yet come to her asking to be switched or complaining about a team member. However, that morning had only been their second day of working together and the groups hadn't even been given their assignments yet. No doubt trouble would arise at some point. It always did.

As Hermione neared the gates, she felt the nervous butterflies pick up their intensity. She scolded herself, trying to remember that it wasn't real, none of it was real.

When she had thought about what to wear for her lunch date that day, her first thought was to impress. She relished the look on his face when he'd seen her the week before. However, she'd quickly remembered that she wasn't out to impress him, just to make people think she was dating him. With that thought in mind, she didn't change, deciding to wear her school robes. After all, she had classes that afternoon, and it would be a bother to change again.

Hermione sighed as she shut the gate behind her, then Apparated before she could think anymore.

The traditional Apparition spot in Hogsmeade was at the end of the main road farthest from Hogwarts. Her destination was just a few hundred feet away, and with her heart racing, Hermione started toward the pub.

She took a deep breath once she reached the _Three Broomsticks_ and then pushed open the door. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust from the bright outdoors to the dim interior.

Hermione shrugged out of her cloak and looked around, her eyes landing on Draco's long form sitting a few tables away. He was bent over the paper, a cup of coffee at his place and his legs extended as far as they could reach under the table.

"Afternoon, love," said Rosmerta from the bar with a smile. "What brings you around? It's not even the weekend."

Hermione returned the smile. "I'm meeting someone for lunch."

"Ah, lovely," said the barmaid, winking. "Be it that blond bloke in the corner, by chance? He's been looking up every other second, expectant, and he's staring at you now."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush and nodded, annoyed at her reaction. "Thank you, Rosmerta." She went to the table where Draco was sitting and slid onto the bench across from him.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed before Draco said, "Hello."

"Hi," Hermione replied with a slight smile.

Rosmerta came then to take their orders, and since both Draco and Hermione had been there many times, they knew what they wanted without opening a menu. Draco chose the fish and chips with a beer, while Hermione opted for a chicken sandwich and butterbeer.

"Coming right out," said Rosmerta, winking at Draco.

Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow.

"We've got a special relationship," Draco explained. "Ever since I … well, after she kicked me out on my arse—literally—and refused to let me into the place, I apologized for my actions years ago. Took some work, but she finally forgave me."

"After you paid off the huge debt I owed, allowing me to keep this place," Rosmerta said, depositing their drinks. "You're still a cheeky little prat sometimes."

Draco grinned and raised his glass to her. "Naturally."

"Don't let him get away with anything, Hermione," the older woman warned playfully before leaving them alone.

Hermione couldn't help the jealous thoughts that suffused her mind. She didn't like to think what lengths he might have gone to in an attempt to earn the buxom woman's forgiveness.

She took a dainty sip of her drink and then said, without looking at him, "You know, Ron used to have the biggest crush on her in school."

Draco chuckled. "What bloke didn't? She serves alcohol, for Merlin's sake, looking like that."

"Lovely," Hermione bit out through clenched teeth. She had heard plenty from Ron and Harry discussing her many fine _attributes_.

He chuckled again and took a sip of his beer. "Course, she's old enough to be my mum, which isn't something I go for. Blaise, on the other hand …. He likes older women, did you know that?"

Hermione nearly spat out her drink. "What? No!"

Draco smirked. "Ask him about Rosie sometime."

"I'd rather not, thank you," she replied, relieved that her fears had been allayed.

"How did Potter and Weasley take the news?" Draco asked.

"Better than I expected, actually. Harry was quiet and then grudgingly accepting. At first, I thought Ron was going to have a fit and make a big scene and then not talk to me for weeks until Harry or Ginny convinced him he was being ridiculous. But we were able to avoid that this time."

He raised an eyebrow. "This time?"

Hermione shook her head, no amusement on her face, and he got the message. "How about you? Did you tell anyone?"

"No." He smiled ruefully and reached into his coat. "Doesn't mean no one found out, of course." He pulled a letter from an envelope, unfolded it, and set it before Hermione.

She glanced over the letter, saw that it was from Narcissa, and pulled it closer to read.

_Dear Draco,_

_Imagine my surprise when I opened the paper this morning, specifically the 'Lifestyles' section, to find a picture of you taking up the entire front page. At the bottom was a small caption that read, "England's most desirable bachelor finds love? Details inside!" _

_I thought the woman with you in the picture looked familiar, and upon further investigation, I discovered that I do, in fact, know of her. Potter's friend. I was shocked, to say the least. She is Muggle-born, after all. What am I to do, son? Are you really seeing her? What do I tell my friends? We can't possibly go through the traditional courting process with her family, and have you thought about what was done to her in your own home?_

_When your father found out, he was torn between coming directly home and trying to talk you out of this 'nonsense' and ignoring the story, hoping it would go away. I convinced him not to ruin our holiday over this and assured him that you would have a reasonable explanation when we return. When I think of the horrible argument the two of you had before he went to prison, it nearly sends me to tears._

_I'm simply astonished at you, Draco. How long has this been going on? Why did you keep it from us? We look forward to discussing this with you when we return._

_Love always,_

_Narcissa_

Hermione's gut was churning by the time she finished the short missive, and not in a good way. Very carefully, she folded the letter and returned it to Draco.

Draco was watching her with a concerned expression. "You all right?"

"Oh, fine," she said lightly. "I hardly expected anything else from Lucius Malfoy." When she spoke his name, her tone was frigid.

Draco stowed the letter back in his pocket and then reached his hand across the table to cover hers. "Don't let it get to you. I'm not concerned about them."

Hermione was so stunned by his comforting action and the strong feelings of elation and giddiness that accompanied it, that she could only stare at their hands for a few seconds before speaking. "They're your parents. They disapprove of … us."

He shrugged. "I don't care. They don't control me, and I certainly don't hold to their antiquated views."

When he began lightly rubbing his thumb across the top of her hand, she nearly pulled her hand away from his. The sensations were so intense that she found it difficult to think.

"I'm lower than dirt in their eyes, Draco. I'm not too proud to admit that your father frightens me."

"I would never let him hurt you. He … he wouldn't, anyway." Draco pulled his hand away then, as Rosmerta returned with their food. Once she was gone, he continued. "My father may not approve, but I'm my own man, and I don't care what he says. I can see whomever I wish, and that includes you."

She smiled sadly. "That's lovely for you to say, but this isn't real. Do you want to risk alienating your parents for a fake relationship?"

He met her eyes, his surprisingly fierce. "Doesn't change anything. I won't let them tell me who I can and cannot date. Now, please don't think about it anymore. Put it out of your mind. They aren't even in the country, so there's nothing to worry about."

Hermione nodded, her thoughts troubled. She hadn't expected acceptance from his parents, but it still stung, just like it did every time she was faced with the inequalities in the wizarding world.

"Pansy took it better than I had expected," he said, taking a bite of his meal.

"Pansy knows?"

He smiled. "Everyone knows. She stormed into my office this morning, demanding I explain what she saw and read in _Witch Weekly_. I did, and to my surprise, she was accepting. She gave me her support, and promised that she would be nice to you."

"Ha!" Hermione said. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"If I have to be nice to your friends, it means you have to be nice to mine," said Draco, a friendly glint in his eyes.

"I know that!" she said. "I have every intention of being nice to her. I never said otherwise." Hermione glanced around the pub and saw that it was only half-full. "Do you think people will know about our date?" she whispered.

He smirked, and nodded his head toward the window.

Hermione followed his motion and saw people standing around outside the window beside their table. Some had cameras, some extendable ears. When they saw her look at them, the group snapped to attention and started taking pictures. Draco leaned over and gave a small wave, then they both scooted away from the window.

"Incredible," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Have they nothing better to do?"

Draco chuckled. "That's what they _do_ for a living. Follow people around."

"Think it will always be like this?" she asked, imagining what it would be like to try and have a relationship with thousands of people watching.

"Probably. Of course, we don't have to be so deliberately public. Once people get used to the idea of us, we can be more discreet."

"It's all you, you know," she said teasingly. "I don't draw that much attention."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I disagree. You're in that weekly as much as I am." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, smiling. "I checked. It's the two of us together that draws them out in such numbers."

"Wow. Imagine if …." She trailed off, letting the rest of her sentence float in the hot air between them. Their eyes met and an entire conversation passed between their hearts of which neither was aware.

After a moment of silence, Hermione remembered his gift. "Oh! Draco! Thank you so much for the books you sent."

His eyes flashed with mirth. "You didn't have them then?"

"No, and they're wonderful, but—as much as I hate to say this—I can't accept them."

Draco frowned. "I … don't understand."

"It's simply too much," she explained. "Far too much for where we are in this."

"Do you like the gift?" he asked patiently, as though he had anticipated her objections to it.

"Of course, it's amazing; I've wanted the set for years."

"Will you use it?" he intoned.

"Yes, absolutely—"

"Then keep it. I have no use for them, and I certainly can't return them." He met her gaze. "They'll sit in my library and collect dust. I thought of you, I know you'll put them to good use. What more could I ask for?"

Hermione found it very tempting to accept the gift, and his rationalization wasn't helping her resolve. "But … this isn't even …. It's too much."

"There are some things in life that can't be priced," he responded carefully. "Your assistance is invaluable. I want you to keep the gift."

She heard the unspoken 'please' in his eyes, and it echoed in her mind. "You really insist?"

"I do. My mind is made up; I cannot be swayed." He smiled. "I can be quite stubborn when I choose to be. This isn't the point you want to push, I assure you."

"Then I can't thank you enough. I can't wait to explore them."

They continued to talk easily as they ate, though Hermione wasn't terribly hungry after reading Narcissa's letter. She managed to eat enough to ensure that she wouldn't be hungry for a couple of hours at least.

When they'd both finished, Rosmerta sauntered over. "You two need anything else? Refills?"

"I'll take a single shot of whatever you bring me," said Draco in a slightly strangled tone.

"Nothing for me," Hermione said, looking at him with wide eyes.

Draco sat rigidly and said nothing until the shot had been delivered and consumed in one gulp. "When we leave here, I'll walk you to the edge of town. Hogwarts, if you prefer. I expect we'll be followed." He took a deep breath and said in a low voice, "Do I have your permission to kiss you?"

Hermione gasped and her heart started pounding. "What?"

"I thought … it might be an appropriate gesture at this point."

His question had momentarily dislodged Hermione's thoughts from reality and she forgot that they were pretending. At his clinical statement, the truth came back. "Oh. Right. Um, all right, but just on the cheek."

"Cheek. Got it."

Hermione's first thought was that it had to look natural. How was that possible, now that they had effectively planned their first kiss? She wouldn't have minded him kissing her spontaneously, so long as it wasn't too heavy. Displays of affection were a natural part of relationships.

"Shall we go, then?" Draco asked, counting through some coins in his hand.

"Sure."

He stood and left the appropriate payment on the table, then helped Hermione into her cloak. Once they were standing outside the pub, they were surrounded by the reporters who had been spying on them earlier. They started asking questions, but Draco told them in no uncertain terms to bugger off. Then he took Hermione's hand and led her quickly toward the edge of town.

The group of reporters kept their distance, but Hermione knew they were watching.

"Hogwarts?" Draco asked, lacing his fingers with hers.

"The end of the road should do," she said, not sure if she could handle the long walk to the school with a gaggle of gossips trailing behind.

"As you wish," he said.

They made small talk, mostly about the wares in the shop windows, until they reached the point from which Hermione would Disapparate. Her nerves were twisted inside her, and her heart was pounding in anticipation of what was to come.

She stopped walking and turned around to face him.

"I had a nice time," Draco said.

Hermione nearly laughed; instead, she smiled at him incredulously. It was good, because it loosened some of her nerves.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm sorry. It just struck me as humorous, I guess. There's no need to say something like that, you know. That's what a bloke might say on a real date."

He nodded, his features momentarily betraying hurt before he covered them again. "Of course. But I did have a good time." His voice was smooth as silk.

"Me too," Hermione said.

Then Draco laughed and stepped closer. She thought her heart would burst through her skin at any moment. He was so close now that she could smell him, and again she picked up the scent of her favorite inks. He was peering into her eyes, a lazy smile on his face, as he reached up with his free hand and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. As he brought his hand down, he lightly brushed her cheek.

Hermione felt weak in the knees and all he had done was touch her face. Her breath was shaky when she inhaled, and she silently cursed, knowing he had noticed.

Draco's hand paused on her chin and then he closed the distance, his lips dancing on her cheek and his essence filling her senses. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his skin against hers. All too soon he pulled back.

Something raged in his eyes and all she could do was stare. Then he moved toward her again and kissed her forehead, this time letting his lips linger. His chest was flush against hers and she had to fight the impulse to wrap her arms around him and tilt her chin up to capture his mouth with hers.

He stepped back, his eyes still swirling with raw emotion until he looked away from her gaze. When he turned back, the mask was in place again.

"I'll see you Friday," he said. He gave her hand one final squeeze and then let go.

"Friday," Hermione said with a nervous smile. Sweet Merlin, she had one more date to get through! At the rate she was going, she would never make it without falling to pieces.

"I had considered somewhere Muggle, but then that would defeat the purpose of going out," he said.

"That's true," she said, her breathing returning to normal. "Must give the people what they want."

Draco smirked. "And right now, they want us. Have a good day, Hermione."

She nodded and took a few steps away, then Disapparated. She appeared just outside the gates to the school and paused to take several deep breaths, trying to steady her nerves before she had to face the rest of her day.

When she was ready, Hermione entered the castle grounds and took her time walking the path to the front doors. Two thoughts plagued her mind. There was simply no way around it: she was falling for him. Curse him and his good looks, sharp wit, and charming personality! When they were together, it was becoming more and more difficult to remember that he was only acting. In addition, she had no idea which pieces of his behavior were real and which were a performance for the benefit of those who might be watching. Had she seen even a glimpse of the real Draco Malfoy, or was his entire display a farce?

Draco had told her that she could back out at any time up to the point where he told her why he needed her help. It had been a comforting thought, knowing that if she found she couldn't work with him, or tolerate him, or if he was rude and demeaning toward her, that she could end their association before it began. She had never imagined she would consider using his escape clause to avoid being hurt. She knew he was only being so agreeable because he needed something from her. Even those looks he had given her could be explained away as simple surface attraction. The letter from his parents had very clearly showed why they could never really work as a couple. If this was a real relationship, he would probably cave to his parents' desires eventually.

Hermione reached the front door before she realized it and entered with a sigh. She glanced at the large clock in the entryway and saw that she had an hour before her next class.

"Hey, Hermione!"

She smiled at the friendly voice and peered through the crowd for her friend. When her eyes landed on his unruly black hair, she waved. "Hi, Harry!"

"Where are you coming from?" he asked. "And where are you going?"

"A nap," she said, chuckling. "Or at least a bit of silence in my room. And I just came from lunch. Want to walk with me?"

He nodded and fell in step beside her. "Yeah? Ginny didn't mention meeting you today," Harry said bemusedly.

"N-no, not Ginny."

Harry frowned, then realization dawned. "Oh! You met him, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"Are you okay? You seem a little … off."

Hermione smiled. "I'm fine, Harry. Just a bit … confused."

"Why? What did he do?" Harry replied, bristling.

"You don't want to know," Hermione said, opening the door to her quarters and letting them both in.

Harry shut the door. "Sure I do."

"He kissed me," she said, flinging herself onto a soft, comfy armchair and starting a low fire.

"You're right; I didn't want to know that." Harry sat in another chair. "Why is that confusing though? Was it … not good?"

"No, it was great."

"Then …."

She laughed. "I don't know. Never mind. I suppose … it was surprising to be so affected by it."

"Right," he drawled uncomfortably. "You need to talk to Ginny about that."

"What I need is some rest," Hermione said, yawning.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you. See you later, Hermione."

"Bye, Harry."

After he closed the door softly, she crawled into bed, fully clothed, hoping that sleep would sort everything out.

**ooo**

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed! The title for this chapter comes from the song "Love Me Honestly" by Brighten. !-- /* Font Definitions */ font-face {font-family:Georgia; panose-1:2 4 5 2 5 4 5 2 3 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:647 0 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ , , {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:FR; mso-fareast-language:FR;} page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} 1 {page:Section1;} -- Eternal thanks to my betas, manda, drcjsnider, and pokeystar. You know how much I appreciate you (I hope)!

Art Credit: This chapter's lovely art was done by arthicule (on LiveJournal). Isn't it lovely? Music was done, as always, by inadaze22.


	10. The Game Is Afoot

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter ****10 - - The Game Is Afoot**

**- - -**

Friday arrived much too quickly. Hermione still had not come to a decision about Draco, though not for lack of opportunity to think. Wednesday night was her usual patrol night, and she'd spent the entire evening going round and round in her mind, debating and weighing the pros and cons. That had been the largest block of free time spent in fruitless musing.

Many smaller blocks had gone by the wayside as well. Her lunch period Thursday had been spent in conversation with Blaise about possibly getting their fourth-year students together for a joint venture to the Shrieking Shack on the first trip to Hogsmeade. She'd wiled away that evening with the most recent edition of _The Journal of the Dark Arts_, which had arrived by owl post that morning. After her weekly house meeting, she had spent a few hours with students in her house, answering questions, and speaking with the Prefects.

Friday afternoon she sat at her desk, absently tapping her quill and waiting for her students to filter in. She didn't notice Samaya enter first, as usual, and stop in front of the desk.

"Morning," Samaya said.

Hermione jumped, startled, and while Samaya chuckled, she needlessly straightened the things on her desk. "Good morning," she replied.

"Distracted?" the girl asked, taking in the front row near Hermione.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Oh, no reason." Samaya pulled something out of her bag and tossed it onto Hermione's desk. "The _Prophet_. Not as exciting as _Witch Weekly_, but since that's only published once a week, this is the best we get."

Hermione hesitantly slid the paper closer so she could get a better look.

"Page fourteen, top left column," Samaya instructed, sitting back in her seat to watch.

It was an article about her lunch date with Draco. At least this time, there were no pictures. There were, however, a few sentences dedicated to the kiss. Hermione's insides did a somersault when she read it; the mere mention of it sent her heart racing. At least her discomfort wasn't for naught; someone had seen the kiss, and wrote about it, as was the plan. The piece also mentioned that they had dinner plans for that evening, at an undisclosed location.

Hermione read through the article twice, her nerves inexplicably calming as she did. It was all a stunt, to fool the media and whoever was watching Draco. She had to get through the dinner date, and then they could move on to more important things.

Samaya looked disappointed as Hermione calmly folded the paper and returned it.

"It's amazing what the _Prophet_ finds newsworthy these days," she commented flippantly, as the rest of the class began to enter and take their seats.

"You're nervous about tonight, aren't you?" Samaya pushed.

Hermione smiled. "Actually, I'm feeling much better now. Thank you for your concern." She raised her voice to address the room. "Good morning, class. As you know, today you will be receiving your group assignments." Hermione tapped the board with her wand, and a list of instructions appeared. "Copy this list carefully, as you will need to complete each item in order to receive full credit."

Quills scratched furiously as she continued. "I was pleased with your work on Wednesday, and I accept the roles you have created within your groups. Those who have been designated as the emissary to speak with me, I will be available at this time, on every Friday, in this room. You are also welcome to ask me questions in class, and whenever you see me around the school."

She returned to her desk and picked up the three pieces of parchment on which were written the groups' assignments. After a few minutes, everyone was finished copying the instructions.

Hermione handed one slip to one member in each group. "I suggest you all write your numbers down. I won't be giving them out again, should you lose this parchment. You have your assignments; you may either stay in the room and strategize, or leave to begin your work. I will remain until the end of the period."

Corey's hand shot into the air. "Professor, these numbers aren't evenly distributable among the three of us."

Hermione gave a slight nod. "That's right. I trust that you will work out the division of labor, so that each of you does your equal part." She paused. "That reminds me. If anyone ever feels as though he or she is being treated unfairly by the other group members—by being given too little or too much work—please don't hesitate to call it to my attention. You will receive group as well as individual grades for these assignments. Any more questions?"

No one spoke up.

"Excellent. Then good luck. I will see you on Monday."

As suspected, all three groups left. Though she hoped they were headed to the library, she wouldn't have bet on it.

**ooo**

Hermione stared into her closet, her nerves once again raging. She had less than an hour to get ready, and she still had no idea what to wear. Draco hadn't said where they would be dining, only that she should be at the Leaky Cauldron at seven-thirty. Knowing him, they would be eating somewhere nice, and she had only a handful of dresses to suit the occasion.

She didn't have the luxury of Ginny's help, as she knew the Potters had plans that evening at the Burrow. After a few more minutes of staring, Hermione narrowed the choices to two: a fitted, shimmery black dress she had worn to a function with Charlie, during which he couldn't peel his eyes off her, or an elegant, mid-thigh blue dress that flattered her in all the right places.

Though she wasn't trying to send Draco the same message with the black dress that she had Charlie, the idea was still intriguing. A scenario flashed through her mind where she wore the black, with the intent of seducing Draco. If she failed, she could simply back out of their agreement. If she succeeded … what then? At this point in her life, she wanted more than a one-off, and judging from Draco's history, he wasn't in the same place as she was.

Hermione grabbed the blue dress before she could think along that path any further.

**ooo**

At twenty past seven, Hermione arrived in the Leaky Cauldron. She had paired an ivory wrap with the blue dress, and donned a pair of soft, leather sandals. The dress had thin straps, and the bottom twelve inches was a blue, silvery fabric, lighter than the rest of the dress. As an afterthought, she realized it would complement his eyes.

Hermione glanced around the crowded room, hoping that Draco had arrived early so that they could leave and she could avoid the stares directed at her. She didn't find him, and so tried to blend in. After a moment, someone gently grabbed her elbow, and the smell of Hawthorne's Inks filled her senses. She relaxed immediately, and turned to the man who had mysteriously appeared by her side.

Draco's face was surprisingly warm as he smiled and indicated the back door of the pub. His hand slid down her arm and he smoothly clasped her hand in his, leading the way through the crowd. He made it look so easy, so natural.

When they were through the back and walking down the cobbled street, he didn't release her hand.

"You are exquisite this evening," he murmured, leaning his head nearer to hers.

Hermione blushed and avoided his gaze, confusion sweeping through her. He had done it again, complimented her unnecessarily. It was almost too much; she wasn't sure her heart could survive his pseudo-charms.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Gordon Ramsey," he replied. "Do you know of it?"

"Only that it's supposed to be the best restaurant in Diagon Alley," she said, her suspicions about a nice restaurant not only confirmed, but vastly underestimated.

He smiled. "It is. The chef, Mr. Ramsey, is a Squib, but many argue that he's magical in the kitchen. His restaurant in London is one of only three in all of the United Kingdom to earn three stars in the Michelin Red Book."

Hermione was only somewhat familiar with the system, but she guessed, from the way Draco spoke, that it was a very big deal. "Wow."

"He opened his small Diagon Alley restaurant a few years ago, and my company invested in it. It's very hard to get a table, but I managed to secure one for us."

He spoke as though he had gotten extremely lucky in getting the table, but she suspected there had been no trouble at all, since he had invested in the restaurant from the beginning. His modesty was … surprising, and also a little endearing.

The experience at the restaurant did not go as Hermione had pictured immediately upon hearing where they were eating. She had expected the maître d' to make a fuss over Draco, with grand overtures, and usher them directly to a table that had been especially reserved for them, already set, a bottle of their finest champagne in a bucket of ice. She had even anticipated an appearance by the chef himself, who would speak with Draco as an equal, even thank him for his continued patronage of the restaurant.

None of those things happened. The maître d' treated Draco the same way he had treated the people who had arrived ahead of them, sparing him no special glance or word. Their table wasn't special in any way; in fact, it was sandwiched between two other tables on one wall that was barely big enough for two tables to fit comfortably, much less three. No bottle of champagne awaited them, and Draco was told that their best bottle was unavailable that evening. He chose another and the waiter left.

Hermione took in the room that comprised half of the restaurant's seating space. Nine tables sat in a square around a small dance floor, which was surprising considering how cramped the tables were. Surely the floor could have been scrapped, allowing the patrons more room during their dining experience. The room was dim, lit by candles in sconces on the wall and in five elaborate chandeliers. The walls were creamy yellow in color, with dark, paneled wainscoting rising three feet from the black and white tiles floor.

The table linens were dark maroon, the china had a gold, filigreed edge, and the flatware was gold-plated. Soft music from a string quartet drifted in from the other room. The ambiance was incredibly romantic.

When Hermione returned her attention to her companion, she found him watching her.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's beautiful," she said, letting her eyes drift along the walls, on which were sepia pictures of vineyards and country towns in the wine regions of Provence, France. Then she met his eyes once more. "And a bit … claustrophobic, honestly."

Draco chuckled, his eyes glinting in the soft candlelight.

As he perused the menu, Hermione took the time to admire him. He wore a simple but luxurious set of black dress robes, with fine stitching and details. His hair, the same length it had been in school, appeared to be impossibly soft, and it looked as though he had asked someone to cut it to make it look strategically unkempt. The result was incredibly sexy.

"Have you looked at the menu?" he asked, drawing her from her musings.

"No," she admitted, pinking slightly, taking hers from the edge of the table and opening it. She hoped he hadn't caught her staring.

"I was thinking we should do the Menu."

Hermione found the page that listed the items served in the Menu, and her eyes widened. "Seven courses? Merlin, I won't be able to eat that much!"

"You get very small portions," he said, amused.

She didn't want to mention it, but the price of the Menu, more so than the seven courses, made her hesitant. Twenty-four Galleons for a meal! Granted, it would probably be the most amazing food she had eaten in her life, but this wasn't real. He didn't need to spend so much for appearance-sake.

"I'm going to look at the A La Carte," she said.

"Hermione."

Draco's voice had taken on that smooth, velvety texture that she suspected he used to make women bend to his will. She hated that it worked on her. She looked at him, ready to resist his attempt to talk her into the Menu.

He started to speak, to argue his point for a long, drawn-out evening in her company—carefully worded, of course—but thought against it upon seeing her fretted expression. "As you wish," he said, and returned to his menu.

She stared at him for a few seconds, stunned.

"I'll be getting the Menu; it's not every day I get to eat somewhere like this, and I intend to take full advantage."

"Oh." Confused, Hermione stared at the menu. Her assumptions, this time about his standard of living, had once again gotten in her way. If he truly didn't eat in three-star restaurants on a regular basis, and he was taking her to one, it was important; it meant something. The only reason she could fathom for why he didn't eat in such establishments was that he didn't want to. Only that theory didn't quite work, however, because he seemed eager now.

"I'm ready to order," she said.

Draco got the waiter's attention. "I'll have the Cornish lamb and lobster Menu," he said.

"And to start?" the waiter asked.

"The Pressed foie gras and confit, please."

"For the lady?"

Hermione smiled, hoping her nervousness didn't show through. "The duck and the Loire Valley foie gras menu. To start, the scallops."

The waiter took their menus with a brisk nod and left.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Excellent selection."

She tried to shrug daintily. "Carpe diem … or noctem, as the case may be."

Everything was delicious. From the first bite of scallop, to the main courses, it was like eating art. She'd never had such an exquisite meal, and she doubted she would again.

Draco was the perfect date. He was funny, attentive, complimentary, he asked thoughtful and absorbing questions, and truly seemed interested in what she had to say. He touched her at the right moments—a brush of his hand on hers, light fingers on her arm … he even brushed his knee against hers underneath the table. Hermione was constantly forced to remind herself that it wasn't real; he wasn't truly interested in her. It pained her to think how easy it was for him to pretend, to make it convincing. She was nearly convinced he was in love with her, and she knew it wasn't true!

It was nearly ten when dessert arrived, Caramelised Tarte Tatin of apples with vanilla ice cream, which they would share. Draco smiled at her and took his spoon, getting some of everything on it, and offering it to her.

"Ladies first," he murmured, his tone silky smooth.

For some reason unknown to her, Hermione's eyes filled with tears. He was too good to be true—because he wasn't real. It was all an act, beautifully orchestrated and performed by a very talented actor. She wasn't able to separate her heart from what she was doing, and she decided she must turn him away, refuse his offer, refuse to help him. She couldn't stand the heartbreak she knew would come with helping him, couldn't watch it approach, waiting for it to crush her.

"Dance with me," he said suddenly, putting the spoon away and holding out his hand. His face was strangely blank, void of the suffusion of emotions it had held moments before.

Hermione stared warily at his hand.

"Please," he said.

The word drew her eyes to his, and she agreed, thinking it would be a perfect yet bittersweet ending to their unusual situation.

Draco led her onto the small dance floor and pulled her close, the perfect, courtly distance between them. Not too intimate, as this was only their third date, but not too far, which might suggest a lack of desire for intimacy. She nearly laughed.

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his eyes demanding. "Just now."

She bit her lip and tore away from his piercing gaze.

"Hermione, I want to know."

His severe tone was like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. He was back; Draco, the man she wasn't feigning a relationship with, had made his first appearance of the night. She felt oddly reassured.

"I'm a bit confused," she began slowly. "About you."

"I am happy to answer any question you have."

"All this time, I've been under an impression of you. It occurred to me that I am entirely mistaken."

He frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

She smiled sadly. "All of this, from the very first time I saw you, at the pitch, has been planned. Every word you've said to me, every phrase carefully crafted, so that I would find you agreeable enough to consider working with you."

Draco stiffened, a shadow passing over his features. "That isn't true."

She gasped and stopped, tears filling her eyes again. "Your apology!" she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth.

"No," he said, gently but firmly pulling her back into their dance. "I swear to you, that was not orchestrated. Not for this. I meant—_mean_—every word I said that day." He reached his hand out to turn her chin to look at him. "I want you to believe me. Will you?"

"I … I don't know," she admitted.

He closed his eyes as though resigned. When they opened again, he smiled, and pulled her close, crossing that perfect distance line, to speak softly in her ear. "You're the most enchanting woman I know, Hermione Granger."

Hermione's heart was pounding, her breathing ragged, as she inhaled his scent.

"Will you … let me explain?" he whispered so softly she barely heard it. "Come home with me?" he then asked, a little louder, but still for her ears only.

She swallowed hard, her body screaming _yes, please_, for an entirely different reason than the one in her head that insisted she listen to his explanation.

Draco pulled back, their faces so close she thought he would kiss her. Instead he gazed into her eyes, fire boiling in his. "This is it," he whispered.

Her choice. She could go with him, learn his secret, and be bound to work with him until the task was complete, or stay, end her association with him, and return to the life she had been quite happy with before he had reentered it. One was safe, the other almost guaranteed to cause her pain. However, being hurt wasn't absolutely certain, and she quickly convinced herself that she could prevent it from happening. That brief shimmer of hope flickered inside her and won out.

"All right," she said, unsure of her voice.

Relief flooded Draco's face, much the way it had the week before in McGonagall's office when Hermione agreed to the dates. He smiled and kissed her forehead, holding her close against him.

"Thank you," he breathed against her skin.

It sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

He let her go and they returned to their table, where they waited for the bill. When it arrived, Draco barely paid it any mind and counted out the correct number of Galleons. Within moments, he had her wrap in one hand, and her hand in his other. He led her out of the restaurant and onto a side alley.

"We have to Side-Along," he said matter-of-factly.

Hermione nodded, a feeling of unease growing rapidly inside her. Draco motioned for her to step closer, but she hesitated. "Wait."

"What's wrong?" His eyes were full of concern and worried impatience, as though if he didn't get her compliance that night, all would be lost.

"Th-the Manor," she stuttered. "I just … it's only … I feel …. Is there somewhere else we could go?"

Draco frowned, a questioning expression on his face. "Why …?" He trailed off them, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Oh, bugger. I didn't even—I'm so sorry. We won't go anywhere near that room, I swear to you. We'll be in my wing of the Manor, and it's almost like an independent flat."

Hermione shivered, and Draco drew her wrap tighter across her shoulders. Then he lightly ran his hands up and down her arms, which did nothing for the chill and only made her shiver more.

Malfoy Manor was the last place she ever thought she'd set foot into again. It had never occurred to her that through working with Draco she might have to return to the place where she had been tortured by his Aunt while he watched.

"Do you think we'll be there often?" she asked.

"It would be easiest, for quite a few reasons," he replied softly. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, though. For tonight, I don't see any alternative. What I have to show you is there, I'm afraid."

She allowed herself one more moment of pure terror before pushing it out of her mind. She had conquered every fear she'd ever faced, fought Death Eaters on more than one occasion, and eaten something cooked by Ron Weasley. The memory of what had happened to her in the Manor was only that—a memory. It couldn't hurt her, and she refused to let it control her now, seven years after the perpetrator had died.

"All right. Let's go."

"Are you sure?" he pressed.

"Yes." She gave him a tiny smile. "Now hurry before I change my mind."

Draco nodded and pulled her into an embrace, wrapping his arms firmly around her. "I have found that it is less disorienting this way."

She was certain that it wouldn't be true in this instance, and not because of the Apparition.

When her feet hit solid ground again, Hermione looked around. The first object her eyes fell upon was an enormous bed, covered in cream, silk linens. A quick glance at the rest of the room persuaded her that they had arrived in his bedroom. She pushed forcefully against his chest and he released her.

"What is this?" she asked, accusation in her voice. "Why are we here?"

For a moment, he looked baffled. "Why are we where? You agreed to come to the Manor with me."

"Your bedroom!" she cried, gesturing wildly in the direction of the bed.

He frowned. "This is the only room in the Manor into which I can directly Apparate."

She felt slightly foolish for the direction her thoughts had taken—or rather, that she had let him know. "That's very convenient, isn't it?" she snapped, back-pedaling for something to say.

His lips slowly formed a smirk. "Did you think this was an attempt to get you into bed with me?"

Hermione stuck her chin up. "A little, yes."

He chuckled and began removing his robes and tie. Underneath, he had worn a plain, black button-down shirt and trousers. "Would it have worked?"

"No," she replied indignantly, not sure of the truth of her statement.

"You did agree to come home with me," he said, hanging his robes in a wardrobe. At her frustrated expression, he shook his head. "I'm joking, Hermione."

"Well, honestly," she huffed. "What else would I have thought?"

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and tossed his head to get the fringe out of his eyes. Hermione was thankful he wasn't watching her, as her eyes glazed over for an instant.

"I can see your point," he conceded. "Unfortunately, such pleasantries are not responsible for me bringing you to my home. As you may recall, we're here to discuss the venture I would appreciate your help with. Would you come with me?" He walked to the door and opened it, then paused to wait for her.

"Where are we going?" she asked nervously as he led her through the Manor. Her eyes were darting everywhere, from the luxurious carpets to the rich tapestries, the priceless artwork and intricately carved moldings.

"My office. We don't have to go to the ground floor for anything." He sighed. No one, except for himself and his house-elf, had set foot in his office in the seven years he had been head of Malfoy Inc. That would change tonight. It was fitting, because many other things about his life were about to change as well.

Draco's bedroom was on the second floor of the massive Manor, in the east wing. The office was on the first floor, in the northern part. It had a balcony which sat above the large veranda on the ground floor. When they reached the door, Draco hesitated for only an instant before opening it, admitting Hermione.

She stepped onto a thick, soft rug and was immediately hit with the smell of aged parchment. Old books surrounded her in floor to ceiling bookcases. She took a deep breath and smiled. "It's amazing," she said, her eyes wandering from title to title.

Draco walked around her and went to the desk. "It's all my father's," he said, rummaging through drawers and starting a pile on the desktop. "Except for one shelf that I use."

"Why?" she asked. "You've been in charge for seven years; why not make it your own space?"

He paused in his search and looked at her heavily. "Because, I never wanted …" Draco indicated the room in general with an air of defeat. "This. Not that I'm complaining. It just … isn't the life I would choose for myself."

As he dragged a hand through his hair, she was amazed at the transformation he had undergone in mere moments. He now seemed older, wearied, as though burdened with a heavy load. It was a stark contrast to the man she'd been to dinner with, who had seemed light, almost care-free. That had been part of the act as well, she realized.

"I'm afraid I don't really understand," she offered quietly.

"I know." Draco came out from around the desk and offered her a seat on the sofa, which she accepted. He remained standing, leaning against the bookcase facing Hermione and crossing one leg over the other. "My father was in prison for seven years," he began. "And for seven years … someone …" Draco shifted his legs. "Someone has been … blackmailing me."

Hermione could tell it had been a difficult thing for him to say. She waited for him to speak again.

"You have to understand my situation. I was thrust into this position, the head of a multi-million Galleon company, with no training, no idea of what my father actually did. It should have been years before I was required to even consider taking over the business. Instead, it was dropped into my lap overnight. To say I was overwhelmed is a gross understatement."

He started to pace, concentration worrying his brow. "Then, just a few weeks into my new life, I received a letter. My father was extremely fortunate to receive only seven years." Their eyes met. "We both know he deserved more. This … _person_ promised to turn over evidence that would keep my father in prison for life, if I didn't meet his demands."

Draco couldn't figure out what to do with his hands, so he picked a paperweight off the desk and shifted it from hand to hand as he talked. "I didn't want my father in prison for his life, because I didn't want to run Malfoy, Inc. for the rest of mine. I wasn't ready to give up all my hopes and aspirations, and, honestly, the work was a struggle at first. Business doesn't come naturally to me. I can do it effectively now, after much practice, but it was quite difficult in the beginning."

"What about your mother?" Hermione asked. "Did she help you?"

He shook his head. "No, she never had any part in the company, and I'm sure I got my lack of business prowess from her."

"Why didn't you seek help?"

"I couldn't tell anyone about the blackmailing, as I'm sure you can imagine. There was also a curse on the information in the blackmail letters that prevented me from telling anyone in my family. I was alone, scared, still … still a bloody kid." Anger tinged his voice.

"This may sound absurd," Hermione began slowly, "but did you ever try to find this person before? Or thwart him or her?"

Draco sniffed. "Yes. I had to try. The first letter terrified me, and I looked for this person everywhere I went. I paid him—or her—as required and dreaded what would happen next. By the fourth letter, I felt bold. I put a newly developed tracking charm that wasn't available to the public on the money and waited. Three days later, I received a note from the blackmailer congratulating my attempt, assuring me he'd expected it, calling me a child. He also included a lock of my mother's hair and promise he'd send her blood the next time I tried something."

Hermione gasped. "How did he get it?"

"I don't know," Draco ground out. "When I find him—or her—I intend to ask. I didn't try anything again."

"I don't blame you." She sent him a sympathetic look. "You couldn't risk your mother's life."

"No. And besides, I thought I could manage for seven years, until I could turn it back over to Lucius."

"So what happened? He's out now."

Draco scowled, but it wasn't directed at her. "I'm getting to that. The blackmailer's demands were exorbitant. Ridiculous. It's far more than this huge house runs on in a year. I have no idea what he is doing with the money, but …" He took a ragged breath. "It crippled me. Malfoy, Inc. makes a generous profit, but much of it must be reinvested, or has already been allocated elsewhere. I haven't been able to do the things I have wanted to do."

"What kinds of things?" Hermione asked, her mind wandering to extravagant parties and holidays.

"In the wizarding world, money talks. I had hoped to help restore my family's name, to start pulling us out of the social mire."

"How?" she asked, scolding herself for jumping to such a terrible conclusion about him. Surely, by now, she should know that all of the presumptive attributes she had assigned him were false.

"The most effective thing I can do is, ironically, donate large sums of money to worthy causes. Which I have wanted to do, whenever the occasion has presented itself, but I haven't been able to because I have to watch the bottom line."

He gave up with the paperweight and clasped his hands behind his back. Once he had started talking, it seemed as though he might never stop. The rush of release he felt by expressing all of the frustrations that had been building in him for years was cathartic. Vaguely, it registered in his mind that he was thankful he trusted her, because he wasn't going to stop talking until he'd come to the end.

"That's the thing," he continued. "There's a lot of money coming in, but he demands too much. It has been slowly depleting the savings and it can't keep going like this, it can't … I have to keep the books, which takes up whatever free time I manage to salvage from everyday business concerns. I keep the ledger because if anyone else did, they would run to the nearest reporter and blab about the financial state of my family. There's no one I can trust to do it well and to be discreet."

Draco glanced at Hermione. She wore an expression of deep concern.

"You mentioned my mother. As I said, I am unable to tell her anything, which means I must keep her under the impression that things are as they have always been. I can't tell her that we can't really afford her twenty thousand Galleon shopping sprees to Paris."

Hermione gasped. "Twenty thousand?"

He scoffed. "Easily. Fortunately, she only goes once or twice a year. But that means I have to find that money somewhere, to make up for her spending. I work all day, and come home and pour over the books, looking for a few spare Sickles here, even extra Knuts!" Draco clenched and unclenched his fists now as he paced.

"I've had to stretch myself thin, work extra hard, form new contacts and build partnerships in order to keep us above water. It's like being at the front of a landslide, or an avalanche. I know it's eventually going to overtake me and swallow me whole, but all I can do is keep running."

"I know there's something you haven't told me yet," Hermione said. "And I want to know what all of this has to do with what we talked about at the restaurant."

Draco let out his breath. "Right. See, it was supposed to end with my father's release. It was perfectly planned. Once he was out, there was no blackmail material. If the blackmailer tried, I would simply send my father into hiding somewhere. Once I turned everything over to him, including this ring—" He showed Hermione the signet ring on his right hand. "—then I could tell him anything. The handing over of power in a household would supersede the curse in the letter.

"I was living for that day. The weeks that led up to it were relaxing, while at the same time stressful. After his release … he asked me to continue in his stead for another two months, while he and my mother went on holiday. I couldn't say no; what was two more months when I'd been doing it seven years?"

Hermione nodded.

"The first day I went to play Quidditch was probably the best day of my life." He smiled sadly. "Which isn't really saying much. I mean, there were good days I had as a kid, but when I think back, I see how small my world was. After Quidditch, every day that passed seemed brighter than the one before it. Then came the day I saw you in Diagon Alley."

Draco went around the desk and leaned on the back of the chair. "I started the day in meetings, and on my lunch break, tried to get a few errands completed. That's when I ran into you. After that Saturday, I decided that if I got the chance, I would apologize to you. After our conversation, I had a meeting with the Weasleys, followed by more meetings, and a late night as usual."

He picked something off the desk, and on his way back to the bookshelf, handed it to her. "I came home to this."

Hermione carefully removed the letter and read through it. "Oh, no," she whispered halfway through. "Your mother …"

"Had an affair," he said gruffly. "Several. I'll spare you the evidence."

"I'm so sorry! That's a terrible truth to learn. May I ask with whom? It might be important."

Draco grunted and couldn't meet her eyes. "For one, Snape. My uncle, Rabastan was another." The disgust in his voice was almost palpable.

Hermione didn't know what to say.

"I cannot keep living like this," Draco said. "I … I didn't know what to do, who to turn to …."

"I don't understand, though. I thought you couldn't tell anyone. Why me?" Hermione asked.

He gave her a pained smile. "The curse that was put on the letter—or rather, the information contained within—is a very Dark curse. Dark magic. I looked it up, researched every word. The original word used for 'anyone,' as in, 'you cannot tell anyone,' referred to those who share my blood, and, as was the belief at the time the spell was written, those of 'worthy blood.' Which meant—"

"Let me guess," she said sharply. "No one of Muggle heritage."

"Correct."

Hermione scowled and glared at Draco, for no other reason than he was the only animate object in the room. "You can only tell Muggle-borns."

"Don't be upset. Consider it an oversight of the narrow-minded. Now I am free to seek your help," he said, hoping she would know he had meant no disrespect. "More importantly, I hope you believe me when I say that my apology that day was sincere."

"But the Saturday after? When you didn't play?"

He shifted conspicuously. "I … had an agenda that day. I needed you to find me something other than repulsive so that you would consider helping me. Though … I had a good time talking with you. I meant everything I said, everything I've said since the first time I saw you again."

She couldn't believe that; it was too much. "So I'm-I'm exquisite, and beautiful, and interesting," she said bitterly. "You really think that."

"Yes," he said simply.

Hermione still had trouble accepting him at his word, and she didn't want to press the issue. "So … my job is to help you figure out who the blackmailer is. Because I'm Muggle-born."

"No," he said, frustrated. "Because you're … you. You're smart, resourceful, methodical. I'm simply lucky that you _are_ Muggle-born, because it means I can ask for help from the best." He wasn't used to giving such lavish praise, to anyone, but not only did she deserve it for agreeing to help him, but it was true. He'd thought about his options, and couldn't have found a better person to help him if he'd been able to select from every witch and wizard in England. Maybe the world.

"I'm sorry," she said with a sigh. "I shouldn't jump down your throat. It's instinct, I'm afraid."

"One that I helped ingrain in you. I truly am sorry."

"I know," she said, smiling at him anew. "Let's move on. We've got a blackmailer to identify. I'm guessing you have a plan for what comes after that?"

"A vague one. It depends largely on the identity of the individual."

She nodded. "Let me think a moment."

Draco watched as she sat on the sofa, her expression changing only slightly as she thought. It was rather fascinating, and he found himself wishing he could tap into her mind, to know what she was thinking.

After a few minutes, she spoke. "I think we'll need a room where we can work. With a large wall, on which we can write—magically—that won't be disturbed between meetings."

"I've got a closet attached to my bedroom that I can magically expand to suit your needs."

"Everything related to this blackmailer should be kept in the room. I want access to anything you have of his, any theories you started and then abandoned, all the research you've done. There should also be a fireplace that I can use to come here—I'm assuming we'll be working here?"

"Yes," he agreed hesitantly. "If that's what you want. I can't let you remove anything from the grounds, however."

"I'm sure it will be fine." Hermione smiled bravely. "So long as I stay in your part of the house. Now, we'll need comfortable seating, quills, ink, parchment …" She nodded, then stood.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked.

"Your closet, right?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "You want to start tonight? Now?"

"Why not? Get a start on it while it's fresh in my mind. All right with you?"

"Um, sure. I've got all the letters, if you'd like to read them." Draco retrieved a locked box from inside his desk.

"Yes, please."

While Draco worked on expanding his closet and setting up the room, Hermione sat on the window seat, wrapped in a warm blanket, carefully reading through the blackmailer's letters. After twenty minutes, Draco returned to his bedroom in an undershirt, his button-down discarded, breathing heavily.

Hermione looked up when he sat on the bed. "Finished?"

"Yes. It's rather exhausting, increasing the area of a room." He flopped onto his back and she nearly lost sight of him due to the large, fluffy coverlet. "How are the letters coming?"

"I'm on my second read-through. Nothing jumps out at me … well, that's not true. Nothing that's immediately useful, at least."

"Oh?" He rolled over on his stomach and rested his chin on his arms.

"I'm going to start by talking to Bill Weasley," she said, setting the letters back in the box and drawing her knees to her chest. "He works at Gringotts. I'll ask him about the procedure for large deposits. Whoever this guy is, he probably started making regular deposits of an immense sum of money. I'm sure there are protocols for such things."

"That's true," said Draco. "I've spoken with a few goblins who work at the bank, but they haven't been too forthcoming."

"I think Bill is our best bet for that kind of information," Hermione said. "I think you should spend time this week thinking of everyone who has a motive to blackmail you."

Draco groaned. "You think I haven't done that a hundred times already?"

"I'm sure you have," Hermione stated. "But I haven't seen the fruits of your efforts. I would like for you to make a card on each person, complete with details of your relationship and any reasons why that person might want to harm you in some way. Don't make assumptions about people you've already ruled out. We have to look at this from an unbiased perspective."

"You realize that would include Potter and Weasley," he teased. "They've never liked me, never—"

"Fine," Hermione snapped. "Make cards for them. I can easily rule them out when we get together again."

Draco hesitated, not wanting their evening to end sorely. "It was a joke. I know they aren't responsible."

"How do you know?" She gave him a pointed look.

He sat up on the bed, crossing his legs beneath him. Hermione tried to remain focused on his face, but every now and then, her gaze would drift to his toned chest.

"Potter wouldn't be working at Hogwarts if he had that kind of money," Draco began. "Come to think of it, Potter probably _has_ that kind of money, he just doesn't use it. Weasley … now don't take offense to this … probably couldn't pull this off, alone, for this long."

Hermione slowly smiled. "As much as I love Ron, I think you're right. Whoever this blackmailer is, he, or she, is highly intelligent and knows how to stay undetected. Ron wouldn't know a thing about a Muggle bank, and immediately after the war, he didn't have the time to concoct such a scheme as this, much less execute it." She frowned. "And Harry had even less time, for that matter."

"Great. We've officially ruled out the two least likely people. Excellent work tonight." His smile belied the sarcasm in his voice. "Speaking of future meetings, when are you available?"

"Friday nights are good for me," she said.

"For me, as well," he said, surprised that she would so willingly give up the prime weekend evening.

Hermione yawned, and there was a knock on the door. She looked at Draco, who seemed surprised.

He got off the bed and went to the door.

"Master!" said Chippy in his squeaky voice.

"What is it?" Draco whispered, closing the door behind him completely.

"You has a guest, Master. She is being in the drawing room."

Carrie. He closed his eyes in exasperation. He hadn't thought he and Hermione would still be together at midnight, so he hadn't written to Carrie to reschedule.

"Thank you, Chippy," Draco sighed. The house-elf nodded and disappeared with a _crack_! Draco made his way through the house, down to the ground floor, and into the parlor.

Carrie was waiting, nearly naked in scanty lingerie, stretched languidly on his mother's favorite sofa, carefully positioned for maximum impact. She patted the spot beside her, smiling seductively. "Draco," she purred. "I've missed you."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "We can't do this tonight," he said, strangely impatient, even though her presence was his fault.

She pouted, showcasing her full lips. "Why not, love? It _is_ Friday, is it not? I came on the right night …"

"I am unavailable at the moment."

Her eyes narrowed in thought, then comprehension dawned. She smiled and sat up, not bothering to cover herself. "Ah! You have secured another source of pleasurable company." Then she stood and sashayed over to him, stopping just in front of him.

Despite not being available, he couldn't help but be affected. She noticed, and leaned up to nip his bottom lip. Draco let out a sharp breath, then took her firmly by the shoulders.

"Tonight will not work," he said firmly.

She smirked, and backed away. "Whatever you say; you're the boss." Carrie took her time in gathering her clothes and putting them on, doing her best to make him squirm.

"Can we reschedule for tomorrow?" he asked, when she had completed dressing.

"Tomorrow? No, love. Friday is our night. I have other responsibilities, you know." She grabbed her purse and stood just inside the door. "I did come all this way, may I point out."

Draco sighed and removed his money bag from his pocket, counted the correct sum, and handed it to her.

"Always a pleasure," she murmured lasciviously, tucking her payment in her robes. "See you next week."

She was nearly to the front door when he remembered. "Carrie, wait!" he called, without really thinking, rushing after her.

"Yes?" she drawled.

"About that. I need to change our night, for the foreseeable future, to Saturday." A small voice inside his head was suggesting that maybe, just maybe, he should end their association altogether, but he ignored it.

Carrie's eyes widened and trailed up the stairs, in the direction of his bedroom. "Have you got a girl? She must be something if she doesn't mind … sharing you."

He scowled. "It's not like that. It's just business, but Friday nights are best for her to meet."

"Any 'business' that consistently keeps you occupied past midnight is no longer _just_ business. I assure you, I would know." She grinned again. "However, I am willing to accommodate you. I'll have to check my calendar, but I think Saturday nights will work. Same time?"

Draco nodded, the voice making itself more prominent. Still, he refused to heed it, and bade Carrie goodnight. As he walked back to his room, he finally allowed himself to give ear to the niggling worm. He realized he felt … almost ashamed, in light of Hermione's presence in his life. In his mind, she was a light, a purely good being. And he was paying a woman for sex on a weekly basis. If Hermione ever found out, she would probably despise him, think him a horrible man. Possibly want nothing more to do with him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He replayed their dinner in his mind, and more than anything, he marveled at how easy it had been to be with her, how much he had enjoyed the time with her. She was beautiful, in a way that spoke directly to his heart, lodged itself deep inside of him. Sure, he wanted her, but that didn't really say anything important. Any man could want almost any woman, given the proper motivation.

But Hermione … she reached him in a deeper place, where they connected on a different plane, one that he hadn't explored in a very long time. He couldn't possibly hope that she felt the same, especially in so short a time.

Draco stopped outside his door, collecting himself. His blood had cooled, but not entirely, and he chuckled at the realization that his response to Carrie was due, in large part, to Hermione. His blood had already been on fire when he went to speak with Carrie, and he now realized it might even be necessary to continue seeing her. It simply wouldn't do to allow himself to be constantly distracted by Hermione.

Draco forced his thoughts onto mundane things—turnips, leaves, clouds—in order to calm himself before seeing Hermione again.

Finally he felt in control and pushed open the door. Hermione was pacing inside, frowning, and biting her lip.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

She jumped at his voice, startled. "Oh!"

"Sorry," he said.

"No, it's all right," she assured him, gathering her shawl and purse. "I need to go. I've got an early breakfast with my parents tomorrow. Next Friday, right?"

"Yes," he nodded, disappointed that she was leaving. Not that he had expected anything else; he had simply gotten used to her company and would miss it.

"What time? I saw the fireplace; may I just … come through? I wouldn't want to interrupt anything …"

"What? No." The idea horrified him; however, the idea that she had thought it horrified him more. "Yes, just come through."

Hermione nodded and looked around the room. He might have been seeing things, but he thought she might have been trying to find an escape route; her eyes had a tinge of panic in them. "I'm finished with classes at three; I can come anytime after that."

"I won't be off work until around six. Why don't you come at seven?"

She smiled. "All right. Seven it is. Don't forget your assignment."

"No, I won't."

"Um, how should I leave?" Hermione asked. "I doubt the Floo connection between your closet and my room will work. It has to be set up by the Ministry."

"I'll get right on that," Draco said, opening the door he hadn't moved away from. "Front door, I suppose. Or you can Floo into Hogsmeade from the main fireplace downstairs. Only …."

"What?"

"It's on the ground floor, I'm afraid. The fireplace and the door. I'd be happy to walk with you, if you would help."

Hermione hesitantly agreed, then followed him through the door. Draco wanted to ask her why she was agitated when he'd returned, but thought she might not want him to have noticed anything amiss.

They walked in silence to the Traveling Room. Hermione's heart pounded as they neared the drawing room. The edges of her vision started to cloud, and her breathing became shallow. She stared at the door as it got closer, panic welling in her chest and—

Draco put his arm around her shoulder and led her across the hallway. She was so surprised that they passed the room without incident. Hermione got another twenty feet before she started shaking and sank to her knees. She'd felt another attack coming on, but Draco's interruption had halted it.

He knelt beside her and rubbed her back; his scent was all around her. She breathed deeply until she felt the episode pass.

Fortunately, Draco would probably write it off as extreme panic brought on by being near the room where she'd experienced something horrible during the war.

After a few long moments, Hermione smiled. "Thanks."

"You all right?" The concern in his eyes was genuine.

"Yes." She nodded and stood, looking over his shoulder at the door to the drawing room. It wasn't so ominous from the other side of it, she thought. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Let's go."

Draco kept a protective hand by her elbow as they walked the rest of the way. By the time they reached the Traveling Room, Hermione felt almost completely better. She bade him a good night, which he reciprocated, and then took a handful of Floo powder. She was about to toss it in, but she paused and turned to him.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" He leaned against the doorframe.

"With … us. This thing. We continue to pretend we're together, right?"

"Oh." He hadn't given much thought to the after, as he was focused on getting her to agree to help him. Draco rubbed his forehead. "Yes. We don't have to go into public as much, just keep a presence there, so that people will still believe we're together."

"Okay," she said, turning back to the fireplace.

"Hermione?" Draco's nerves were suddenly on fire.

"Hmm?"

"I … I had a good time."

Their eyes met and he had the sudden impulse to kiss her. She looked lost and confused, though he had no idea why.

"Me too," she said softly, looking down at her hands in front of her. "Goodnight, Draco." Without waiting for a response, she tossed the powder into the fireplace and disappeared in the swirling green flames.

**ooo**

**End Notes**: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The chapter title comes from Henry IV by William Shakespeare.

Hermione's dress was inspired by the Gibraltar's Gleam Dress at anthropologie[dot]com.

In France, at least, restaurants are rated on a 3-star system. Achieving a three-star rating is a very big deal. You can get more information at their website [Michelinguide[dot]com] and at Wikipedia.

The ground floor of Malfoy Manor is the lowest level, then the first floor, then the second.

**Credits:** Merci beaucoup to my wonderful betas: Manda, drcjsnider, and pokeystar! The art for this chapter was a commission by Hannah Clark. Playlist as always by inadaze22. :)


	11. Chimes at Midnight

Concerning Carrie: Please keep in mind that Draco and Hermione aren't together. Just because they're starting to have feelings of something for each other doesn't mean they are ready to acknowledge it or deal with it. Remember, it's only been a week since Draco approached Hermione in McGonagall's office. I can assure you that Draco would never continue with Carrie if he met someone and wanted a relationship.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter ****11 - - Chimes at Midnight**

**- - -**

"How was your week?" Elizabeth Granger asked her daughter as the two of them stood in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

Hermione hands were in water up to her elbows, scrubbing a pot. "Lovely," she said, much the way she usually said it. Then images from the week, all staring Draco, flashed through her mind and she smiled. "Really good."

"Yeah?" said Elizabeth. "I want to hear about your date last week with … what was his name again? Unusual … Draco! That's it."

Hermione continued scrubbing. "I'll just end up telling the story twice, so let's wait until dad is here. Where is he, anyway?"

"He had to run out for a few things."

"On a Saturday morning?" Hermione asked.

"When you need something, you need it," her mother replied. "He'll be back soon."

Hermione finished the pot and dried it, then handed it to her mother.

"Thank you, dear." Elizabeth took it and put it away. "Tell me what's going on with school, then."

"I gave out the first big assignment yesterday. Oh, I haven't told you this yet." Hermione began slicing a melon. "I decided to put my Gryffindor and Slytherin in the same group."

"The boy and girl you suspect like each other?" Elizabeth asked.

"Right. At least, I suspect the boy likes the girl. After seeing how well Draco and I got on, I decided it couldn't hurt to put them in closer proximity. If nothing happens, that's fine, too."

Elizabeth stirred a pan filled with onions and peppers. "How did they take it?"

Hermione shrugged. "Fine. I haven't had any complaints so far. But it's only been a week."

The front door opened then, and Thomas Granger entered with a bag in one hand and a bottle of champagne and a loaf of fresh bread in the other. He set the bag by the stairs and went into the kitchen.

"Hello, ladies," he said, kissing Hermione on the forehead and his wife on the lips. He handed the bread to Hermione and put the bottle on the table. "The food smells great. Let me run my purchases upstairs and I'll be right back."

Thomas returned after a few minutes, as Hermione was setting the table.

Elizabeth removed the orange juice from the refrigerator and set it on the table beside a bottle of champagne. She prepared a mimosa for herself and, as she did each week, asked if either Hermione or Thomas would like one. As usual, Thomas declined; however, Hermione accepted, to the amusement of both her parents.

"We're going to hear about her date," Elizabeth remarked while preparing Hermione's drink.

Hermione rolled her eyes, nervous about what she would say. Certainly, there would be no need to lie. All three dates that week had been incredible, and she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. Talking about them, however, might make it more difficult to remember they were for show, might cement them in her mind as the real thing. She didn't want to get too caught up in the typical new-love euphoria, but as she was supposed to pretend their relationship was genuine, she had to discuss it.

The trouble was, she found it a little too easy to become swept up in thinking and talking about Draco—and thinking too much often got her in trouble. When Draco had left her the night before to meet his guest, she'd looked around his room and realized she knew nothing about him beyond what he'd carefully revealed. When the thought had occurred to her that he was accustomed to female companionship, she'd suddenly wanted to leave immediately. The room seemed too small, too warm, and even though he'd only been gone a few minutes, it had been far too long.

"Excellent," said Thomas cheerfully.

Elizabeth set the bowl of fruit on the table and sat down beside her husband. "Go on, then," she pressed, giving her daughter an expectant look.

Hermione chuckled. "Have you been waiting so patiently all week for my report?"

Her parents exchanged a look and then Thomas spoke. "There was something about the way you spoke about it last week that has had us curious."

"Oh." Hermione took a sip from her drink. Normally she stuck with plain juice, but this morning she wanted a little extra something to help her nerves. "Well, I'm sure it was nothing."

"How did the date go?" Elizabeth asked.

Her voice betrayed only mild interest, but Hermione knew her mother better; she was quite anxious to hear the details. Hermione sighed. "It went really well."

"Yeah?" Her mother smiled.

"Yeah. We had a lovely time at tea, and then he went with me while I ran a few errands." Hermione took another sip.

"That's wonderful to hear, my dear," Elizabeth said.

"Do you have plans to see him again?" her father asked.

"Well," Hermione said slowly. "Actually, I saw him for lunch on Wednesday and last night for dinner." Her parents' eyes widened simultaneously. "And yes, I do plan to see him again."

Thomas cleared his throat. "It would be safe to say you like him, then."

Here it was, the part that was too easy, the lie she didn't have to tell. "Yes, I do like him." The words were so simple, but their implication complex. That she liked him at all was a problem, but after last night, she feared she could easily fall in love with him if she let herself. Him! Of all people!

At least she didn't have possession of her whole heart to unwittingly devote to the matter.

"Tell us about him, Hermione," her mother pressed. "What's he like? What does he do?"

More of the truth. "He's … very charming," she began, still hesitant. She needed to think negatively about him to counteract the positive things she said. Yes, he was charming, but it had almost been too perfect. No man could always react so well to everything she said or did.

"Well, I'm sold," her father said, smiling.

"Now, Thomas," Elizabeth scolded lightly. "Let Hermione tell us the way she wants to."

"He's funny too; he makes me laugh," Hermione continued. She searched her mind for something bad about this trait, but couldn't find one. "He's very intelligent. Surprisingly so. He doesn't flaunt it, but it's obvious from the way he talks." Nope, nothing wrong with that, either.

"What does he do?" Thomas asked.

"That's such a father question," Hermione teased. "It's another way of asking, 'Can this bloke take care of you? Is he good enough for my daughter?'"

He grinned. "I see nothing wrong with such questions. What's the answer?"

The latter made her nervous; she didn't have an answer to it. She hoped her answer to the first would sufficiently distract them.

"Draco is definitely able to take care of me," she said, finishing her mimosa. Her glass hadn't rested on the table for five seconds before her mother picked it up and prepared her a fresh drink. Hermione continued. "To make the story simple, he comes from a wealthy family, and he is currently running his family's business."

"What is the family business?" Thomas asked with a frown. "Nothing like 'Sanitation Engineer,' right?"

Hermione laughed nervously. The image of Draco collecting rubbish bins was funny enough, but it was clear her father had been watching too many mob movies lately. "No, dad, he's not in the mafia." Still, with Draco's family, it wasn't that bad a guess.

"Good to know." He visibly relaxed and looked at her, still waiting for an answer.

"Honestly … I don't know what the family business is." At her father's disapproving expression, she added, "But I do know it involves investment. His company is investing in Ron's brother's shop. I'm sure I've mentioned it before. They're expanding into Europe, and Malfoy, Inc. will be a part of it."

"That certainly sounds better," Thomas said.

"The company is huge, from what I gather. I also know Draco has a few research firms under his control. Two are small, from what he said, but one is a respectable size."

"You like research, don't you, dear?" Elizabeth asked.

Hermione was happy at the direction of the conversation. "Yes, very much."

"Is he attractive?" her mother asked.

"Mum!" Hermione blushed and took a large gulp from her drink.

Elizabeth laughed. "It's a very important question, Hermione. There has to be a connection between you that goes beyond your heart and mind."

Again, this would be no lie. "Yes, mum, I find him attractive," she mumbled. "Very much."

"Well. Since you'll be seeing him again, I think you should bring him for breakfast sometime," said Thomas. "Soon."

"Dad! It's only been a week!" Hermione cried, her chest clenching at the thought.

"Fine, then. Give it a few more, and then we'd like to meet him."

"It's only fair," Elizabeth added. "We like to meet all the men you date seriously. It's important to us that we establish a good relationship with the man our daughter is dating, for all dates have the potential to lead to more."

Hermione smiled weakly. _But this is different!_ she wanted to shout. _It's not real!_ "Of course," she said instead.

**ooo**

Usually, Hermione looked forward to big Sunday meals at the Burrow. It was such a contrast to her quiet Saturday breakfasts with her parents. There was always someone unexpected at the meal—friends, co-workers, family of the Weasleys— not enough seating, and mounds of food. Someone would inevitably get hurt, the children would fight. Hermione always had a great time, but a part of her was secretly thankful that when she went home, none of the Weasleys went with her. Being part of such a large family could be exhausting at times.

Hermione knocked on the door of the Burrow, her arms full of baked goods. It was her assigned role to bring bread for the meal, and with the guest list flexible, she always tried to bring more than enough.

"Hey, Hermione!" said Harry, opening the door. "Come on in." He looked past her, a puzzled frown crossing his face.

"There you are, Hermione, dear," said Molly, sweeping into the room and taking the load out of her arms. "I'll set these to slicing on the table in the dining room."

"Great," she said with a warm smile.

"Where's—?" Harry began, only to be interrupted by Ron's loud arrival in the room.

"Oi! Hermione's here!" he called, and wrapped his long arms around her and squeezed her, lifting her off the floor.

"Nice to see you too, Ron. It's only been a week, you realize."

He set her down, his huge grin lopsided. "I know. I guess I'm happy to see you. You look the same … no outward signs that you're dating that rodent."

"Ron!" she cried. "You're to be nice, remember?"

"What?" He shrugged. "He isn't here; I can say whatever I want."

"Yeah, where is he?" Harry asked.

"Draco?" Hermione quickly ran through all the conversations she had with Harry, Ginny and Ron over the last week. "Was he invited?"

"Well, yeah," said Harry. "Ron was supposed to mention it."

When Harry and Hermione turned to their friend, he was staring hard at something on the wall. Harry cleared his throat, and Ron looked at him. "What? Oh, that. Oops. Ah well, more's the pity. Maybe next time." He practically skipped out of the room, either in an attempt to get out of reach of Hermione's wand or in excitement over Draco's absence.

"I'm glad you came," Harry said, walking to the door and going through it.

Hermione followed, and they headed for the outer path around the garden. "Who's here today?" she asked.

"Let's see … Ginny, myself and James, Ron, Molly and Arthur, Bill, Fleur, Violet, and Manech, You, Percy and Penelope, George and his recent girlfriend … Pam, I think her name is … Oh, and two of Arthur's assistants, plus Fleur's sister Gabrielle and her husband. Don't remember his name."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know how Molly does it. She makes it look so easy! Never gets flustered when Arthur invites someone from work, or George brings six friends with him."

"It certainly gets a little chaotic at times," Harry said.

"That's a slight understatement! I don't know how you handle it so well. I am glad for these monthly meals, but I couldn't be in the middle of it, all the time."

"You nearly were," Harry pointed out. "Twice."

"No," Hermione said, waving a finger. "I would not have let myself be dragged into every Weasley drama. I would have stayed neutral and pleasant."

"Just like the time when George was dating two women at the same time, right?" Harry asked with a grin.

"That was an exception! I had a very strong opinion about that issue," Hermione said sternly.

"You have a very strong opinion on _most_ things." He chuckled. "I doubt you could remain on the outside for too long."

She sighed. "Maybe you're right. I reckon it's a good thing it never worked out with Ron or Charlie."

Harry stopped walking. When she noticed and turned around, he was eyeing her strangely. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, catching up to her.

"It isn't nothing, Harry Potter. What?"

"I've just never heard you say that about Charlie. You either don't talk about him, or you go on about how one day, things will be righted, and you and he can—"

"Stop," Hermione whispered, pain etched on her face. She hadn't thought about Charlie, about their future or lack thereof, in a couple of weeks, and the realization surprised her. She was used to thinking about him almost daily, and since she and Draco had started their faux-relationship, Charlie had only crossed her mind once, when she'd tried to decide which dress she would wear to dinner with Draco.

Harry was speaking, but Hermione wasn't listening. She started back to the house without a word to her friend.

"Hey, I'm sorry!" he called, falling into step beside her once again. "Really. It was nice to hear you talk like it was okay again. That's all."

"It's all right, Harry. I'm not mad." Was it okay though, like Harry had said? Why hadn't her thoughts been filled with Charlie all week? She had dated since breaking up with him, but always her thoughts would return to him. The fact that they hadn't, even though the relationship with Draco wasn't real, frightened her, and she was more convinced than ever that she had to be careful.

After the meal, Hermione found Bill playing with his son.

"Hey," he said, smiling at her as she approached.

"Hi, Manech," she said, grinning at the toddler. He grinned back at her and continued walking, his hands clenched around his father's fingers. "Bill, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Not at all," he said, swinging his long in the air. "What can I help you with?"

"I have a few questions about the banking system, and I would rather you not asked me why I'm inquiring."

Bill looked at her suspiciously, one eyebrow raised. "Are you in some kind of trouble, Hermione?"

"Oh! No!" she reassured, chuckling. "I'm just curious about the procedures. In particular, opening accounts with a large initial deposit. How does that work?"

"All right." He let Manech swing his arm as they walked. "The client makes an appointment, papers are signed, and the client accompanies his or her money to the vault assigned."

"Is it possible to get an account opened without a personal meeting?" she asked. "Say, by using a proxy, or corresponding via letter?"

He shook his head. "No. For most accounts, especially the larger ones, we must see the clients in person. Usually the client wants to put additional wards on his assigned vault because he is too paranoid to let the money out of his sight to trust it to anyone else. Even goblins."

"I see." She paused and Bill swung Manech in a circle a few times, the boy laughing wildly. "Are there other banks, besides Gringotts, in the wizarding world?"

"A few," he replied. "They're smaller, less reputable. People use them when they don't want to have to answer too many questions. Gringotts has the goblins, and most of the wizarding world trusts them to run the bank efficiently and correctly, even if they don't exactly trust them." He chuckled. "That doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"No," Hermione said. "It does, if you understand the nature of goblins. They can be trusted to be meticulous in keeping records and figures, but you wouldn't want to leave them alone in your home."

Bill grinned. "Precisely."

"Can you give me a list of the other, less reputable wizarding banks in Europe?"

"Hermione," he said sternly. "I know you don't want to answer any questions, but—"

"I'm just asking for information, Bill. I promise I'm not in any kind of trouble, nor have I come into a large sum of illicit money recently." She gave him her most innocent smile.

He stared at her pensively, clearly not convinced. Then he shrugged. "There aren't many, because of the nature of the clientele. People who go to these banks aren't the most trustworthy people. These banks take a gamble by accepting high-risk clients, and they generally work by taking a large percentage of the initial deposit, to cover expenses they might incur as a result of granting the account. If there are subsequent deposits, they again take a large percentage. The clients accept it, because the banks don't ask who they are, what they've done, where they got the money. Gringotts is painstaking in its research."

"That's good though," she said.

"Yes, it is. It's one reason Gringotts has been so successful over the centuries. Goblins are so obsessive that they want to know everything they can about their clients."

"So these other banks …" she prompted.

He gave her a patient look. "As I said, there aren't many. There's one in Paris, one in Finland, two in Poland, one in the Ukraine, and four in Switzerland."

"Thank you, Bill," she said. "As for Gringotts, there are locations in every country, right?"

"Yeah," he replied. "In the big cities that have a sizeable wizarding population. Paris, Rome, Barcelona, Madrid, Berlin, Prague … the list is quite long."

"I really appreciate this," Hermione said.

They had reached the house, and Fleur came to Bill's side with Violet on her hip. "Bill, we must be going," she said, her English much improved from when she and Bill first met.

"Sure thing," he said, and then turned back to Hermione. "You are welcome. Any time. Just … be smart. Not that I have to tell you that." He grinned and led his family into the house.

**ooo**

"Do you see this?" Pansy asked, holding the magazine up to his face. "Do you see your eyes?"

Annoyed, he pushed her arm away. "What do you want me to say? I like her."

She sat and examined the pictures again. "Those aren't 'I like you' eyes. You look like you're in love with her already! Merlin, it's been what, three dates? A week?"

He scowled. "I'm not in love with her."

"Well, you could have fooled me. When are you seeing her again?" Pansy asked.

"Tomorrow night," he said with a sigh. He really didn't like the way the week felt interminable without any contact from Hermione; it wasn't a good sign.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "What are you planning?"

"I'm not sure yet," he replied. "I think I'll invite her over to the Manor and cook for her."

"You can cook?" Pansy gasped dramatically.

He tried to keep scowling, but he couldn't help but chuckle. "I can prepare one thing. I learned while on a business outing. I've made it a few times since."

"Well," said Pansy haughtily. "You know that's code for sex, don't you?"

Draco nearly dropped his fork at the unexpected turn in conversation. "What?"

"You invite a woman over to your home, prepare her a gourmet meal … how else do you think the evening is going to end?" She smirked at his expression. "Although … are you sure Granger's a four-date kind of woman?"

He didn't need to be thinking about this right now. It was definitely not a good path for his thoughts to be on. "Maybe I'm not a four-date bloke."

Pansy laughed so hard she nearly choked on the bite she'd just taken. After drinking half her glass of wine, she looked at him, her eyes still alight with mirth. "Merlin, that's the truth. You're positively a first-date bloke. Though, it begs the question, have you even been on four dates with the same woman?"

Draco's scowl deepened, which he hadn't thought possible. "And you wonder why we don't get together more often," he growled, the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"You are certainly a 'shag her and move on' kind of man." Her smile turned a bit sour. "Relationship sex is different than a one-off, Draco."

"How silly of me!" he quipped. "After all, you _are _the expert on relationship sex."

She glowered at him. "I have been in far more relationships than you. At least I know something about it."

"Month-long shag-fests don't count, Pansy," he bit out.

Her face turned red as she stared daggers at him. "You would know," she spat.

They glared at each other for a few moments, and then Draco sighed. "I'm sorry. You struck a raw nerve, and I attacked you." He watched his hand as he turned his spoon on its long axis. "The truth is …" He was beginning to realize it was the truth, beyond the fake relationship. "I want more than just getting her into bed. I want … the rest, too. And I've no idea how to accomplish it."

Pansy's anger dissipated. "I'm sorry too. But I do know that there's a difference, and you should take care with her. She won't be like all the others."

Draco chuckled wryly. "You have no idea."

"I have a little bit of one," Pansy said. "It's Granger. I don't know what you see in her."

"She makes me happy," he stated simply, and he meant it. "In a way I've never been happy before."

"Merlin knows it's about time," Pansy remarked, rummaging through her purse and taking out a cigarette and her wand.

Draco watched her light up and take a long drag. "I hate that you do that."

"I know. I'm quitting. It's harder than you'd think, you know." She looked at the thin, white stick between her fingers. "I get these headaches, and want one, and when I smoke it, the headache goes away."

"It's called addiction, Pansy. Your body is chemically dependent on those things," Draco took the bill the waiter had inconspicuously placed on their table and started counting his half. "Your part is two Galleons."

She tossed the coins on the table and remained in her seat. "You and Granger. I never would have guessed."

"Me either. What about you and Mr. Fiji?" Draco asked.

Pansy frowned. "Who?"

He chuckled. "Never mind. I've got to go—meeting in twenty minutes."

"You work too much," Pansy scolded, putting her cigarette out on the ashtray. "Granger won't stand for it. She … well, any woman, deserves better than that."

Draco shrugged on his cloak and helped Pansy into hers. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

"She'd better not hurt you."

"I know. You'll cause her physical pain. We've been over this."

Outside the café, Pansy stopped him and turned to face him. "I'm serious. I've never seen you like this. You're still you, of course, but it's as though there's a weight that's been lifted off your shoulders. You _are_ happy, and if she's the reason, then I hope she continues to be the reason. I've watched you, too closely, for the past seven years. Year after year, you seemed to withdraw into yourself a little more, despite gaining knowledge and business prowess. When you thought no one was watching, I would see it."

He was touched by the genuine concern in her eyes and voice.

"Don't worry, most people wouldn't have noticed. You are a very good actor, Draco." Then she smiled, indicating that the serious part of the conversation was over. "Maybe you should consider trying out for one of those Muggle films."

"Thanks for that. If my need is ever dire, I will head directly to a casting agency."

"See you when I see you," she sing-songed. Then she smirked. "Have fun tomorrow night."

With those parting words, she kissed his cheek and left him standing in the street, in mental agony over the path his mind unabashedly wandered and the images it conjured.

**ooo**

Hermione was in her classroom on Friday from eleven until noon, just as she had told her seventh-year students she would be. She didn't expect anyone to come to her with questions so early in the year, and so she was surprised when Evan Turner sat down in the seat across from her desk.

"Evan," she greeted, putting away the issue of _Witch Weekly_ that contained the pictures from her dinner date with Draco. "How can I help you?"

He didn't look at her and scratched at something nonexistent on the desk. "I don't have a question about the assignment," he told her. "I … I'm having trouble working with Sheetal."

"Oh!" Hermione tried to hide her surprise. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Our group has met twice since last Friday, and … well …. The thing is, Professor, I kind of fancy her."

His voice was so low at this point that it took a moment for his words to sink in. "I see," she said, inwardly cheering that her observations had been correct. "I take it she doesn't reciprocate your feelings, and is making things uncomfortable." Hermione didn't think a little roundabout prying would cause any harm. She had learned a thing or two from being the head of Slytherin House.

Panic flashed on Evan's face at Hermione's words. "No! I mean, I don't know. I … haven't exactly asked."

"All right. Why are you having trouble working with her then?" she asked.

"Being around her … it's a little … distracting."

Hermione smiled in understanding. "I see. I'm sorry, Evan. I'm not going to change the groups around."

"No, no!" Evan said hastily. "I don't want to switch, I just thought you might be able to tell me what to do about it."

"Have you considered telling her how you feel?" Hermione asked.

"Um … a little," he muttered.

"Why haven't you?"

"There are a few reasons," he admitted. "One being her house. But after your speech last week, that one doesn't seem so important anymore."

"In my experience, it's good to confess your feelings. Either way, you can move ahead instead of being stuck in the limbo of not knowing." Hermione folded her hands. "If she returns your feelings, you can move forward together; if not, you can see about moving on."

Evan pondered her words for a few minutes. "Hogsmeade is coming up in a few weeks."

"Oh, you're right. I had forgotten." The trip was scheduled for the third Saturday in October, and she had agreed to Blaise's suggestion about the Shrieking Shack. She'd have to discuss it with him again soon.

"Maybe I'll ask her to meet me for lunch," he said uncertainly.

"That's a good idea!" Hermione encouraged. "Lunch can lead to an afternoon stroll."

He looked terrified at the thought of spending so much time alone with Sheetal, but Hermione knew that once he got used to it, he would be glad he did.

"Thanks, Professor," Evan said, standing.

"You're very welcome," she said with a smile. "Have a good weekend!"

**ooo**

At five minutes to seven that night, Hermione stood before her fireplace, going over the notes she had made that week about the various banks Bill had mentioned. She was nervous, and she found herself looking forward to seeing Draco again. However, she planned to go in with her guard up. She would think about Charlie, and would only discuss the task at hand. Somehow, she had managed to convince herself that her plan to protect her heart would work.

At precisely seven, she stepped into the green flames after announcing her destination, "Draco's closet," as he had instructed.

He was sitting on the sofa and he looked up from his book when she exited the fireplace. "Good evening," he greeted formally.

"Hi," she replied, her heart skipping upon taking him in.

"Dinner should be here soon," he said, closing the book and removing his reading glasses. "I told Chippy to deliver it around seven-thirty. If you'd like it sooner, that can be arranged."

"No, that's fine," she reassured, removing her cloak. "I hadn't expected dinner."

Draco frowned and took the garment from her. "I should have mentioned it. I apologize."

Good, she thought. He was behaving very professionally. It would help her in her resolve, though it did sting a bit. With a small smile, she said, "It's all right."

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked, going to a bar she hadn't noticed the last time.

"Water, for now, thank you."

While he prepared something for himself, she glanced around the closet-turned-room. It looked more … cozy was the only word she could think of, though it didn't adequately describe it. He had added touches to make it appear lived in; paintings on the walls, drapes on the new windows, books on shelves. Hermione moved to sit on the sofa and noticed a small box on the coffee table, open, with cards organized by color. She smiled to herself and forgot all about her plan to think of Charlie.

"Here you are," said Draco, handing her a goblet of water. He sat on the other end of the sofa and nodded at the box. "That's my assignment. I hope it earns me an Outstanding."

She smiled and reached for the collection of all the people in Draco's life, personal and professional, but stopped short. "Before we start working, there's something I would like to get out of the way," she said, turning to face him.

"Go on," he said, taking a sip from his short glass.

"My … parents want to meet you," she said in a rush. "I'm sorry, but this is supposed to look real, and I've told them about you, and they've invited you to breakfast some Saturday."

Draco nodded slowly, once. "All right."

"I see them every week for Saturday breakfast, and I'm very close with them."

"There's no need to apologize, Hermione. Their request shouldn't have come as a surprise." He paused. Merlin, he felt out of place around her! As though he was in someone else's skin, trying to pretend he was that other person. It had taken no small amount of reserve to not smile at her when he saw her.

"I'm afraid I don't have much—any, to be honest—experience with meeting the parents."

"That's fine, it's just breakfast. They know all about … magic, and this world, but it makes them nervous. You can talk about it, but don't do magic around them."

"Understood." Draco finished his glass, refilled it halfway, and drank all of that. It reminded Hermione of what he had done on their lunch date in Hogsmeade, right before he asked if he could kiss her. "Breakfast with your parents. I can do that."

He stood then and started pacing. "I have … a subject of my own I would like to get out of the way."

"Okay," she said warily.

"I had lunch with Pansy yesterday, and when she asked me what we would be doing tonight, I told her I wanted to invite you over and cook for you." His eyes met hers. "You know, as a cover, since we hadn't planned on going out anywhere."

"Right," Hermione said, her nerves on fire.

"She …." He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. "She said that it was code for sex."

A jolt of adrenaline shot through her, leaving her slightly numb in its wake. "What?"

He pressed on, pacing quickly and not looking at her. "That inviting you here, like that, would, in most cases, lead to … that. Now, I know this isn't real, but it got me thinking that, at some point, the issue would have to be addressed. I will respect your wishes in this matter, we'll go at your pace, and if you would prefer to go out tonight, it's fine with me."

She hadn't even thought about kissing until he brought it up, and this had been the farthest thing from her mind. Now that she was forced to think about it, however, she couldn't help but stare at him while he paced. He was wearing a pair of dark, fitted jeans and a black, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. She felt underdressed in a plain grey skirt and red cardigan.

Draco stopped behind the sofa and leaned down, gripping the back so hard his knuckles turned white. "If we don't go out, know that Pansy, at least, will assume …."

Hermione swallowed hard. The very idea …. The room was suddenly too warm. "This … issue was inevitable," she began, staring at her water but not drinking any, not wanting him to know how desperately she needed to cool down. "I think the sooner we put it past us, the better. We'll stay in."

His head whipped up, a stunned expression on his face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said resolutely. "I'm certain."

"Okay," he said, releasing his death grip on the back of the sofa. "I'm glad that's settled."

"At least there won't be pictures," she muttered, thinking of the lengths to which someone had gone to get the shots of the two of them at dinner.

Draco's face turned red and his eyes went wide.

Hermione laughed. "Let's get to work before this gets awkward, shall we?"

"Don't you mean, more awkward?" he mumbled, coming around the sofa to sit once more.

"I suppose I do," she said, pulling her notes from her bag. He was right, though; the tension was thicker and more cumbersome. Hermione was eager to escape it so she began by telling him about her conversation with Bill.

When she finished, he pulled his box of cards closer. "I'm not sure what that accomplishes. The blackmailer probably didn't go to Gringotts with my money, if they ask too many questions. He probably went to one of those other banks, if he even went to a bank at all. Who knows, maybe he's stuck it all in a jar under his bed."

"You've been referring to the blackmailer as a he. Are there no women in that box?" she inquired, mostly teasing, but partly serious.

"There are. It's easier to say he all the time," he replied.

"Ah, makes sense." She smiled and then returned to her notes. "I looked into the other banks. All records are confidential, of course, but, for a fee, certain information can be … obtained."

Draco sighed. "Because they are less than upstanding institutions."

Hermione nodded fervently. "I was amazed at the level of corruption. With very little effort on my part, I was offered a look at one bank's records from seven years ago, in exchange for a large fee."

"How large?" he asked.

"Draco! I don't want to do that," she reproved. "I want to puzzle this person out without breaking any laws."

He looked at her thoughtfully, held her gaze. "I don't care how we find him."

"If you want my help, you will care," she returned immediately, as though she had known what he would say before he said it.

Draco scowled. "This is my life in the balance, not yours. We will do things my way. I am willing to listen to alternatives, but if a man is willing to accept a bribe, then I am willing to pay."

"Two wrongs don't make a right, Malfoy."

"Yeah?" He was angry now. "Well he's the one blackmailing me. I want my life back, and there are very few things I an unwilling to do in order to achieve that end."

Hermione broke away from his eyes and stared at her notes. She saw his position, but wasn't sure if she could go along with it.

He spoke again before she could respond. "I appreciate you getting the information. What I do with it is no reflection on you."

"But if I know what you're going to do, and I don't try to stop you, I am as guilty as you are," she explained quietly.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and took several deep breaths. "We don't need to have this conversation right now. It might not come to bribes. Please continue with what you found."

Still troubled, she didn't respond immediately. "Though there are four of these banks in Switzerland, all of them require the proper documentation. I doubt the blackmailer would have gone there. That leaves five."

"Good," Draco said. "I will contact them this week, if you'll leave me the information."

She handed him the list. "That's all I was able to do this week."

"It's very helpful, thank you. I had inquired at the bank in Diagon Alley, but the goblins aren't too keen on sharing their procedures. I'm glad you had another contact."

Hermione smiled. "I'm sure Bill suspected my questions were related to you."

"Yeah? How?" he asked.

"It's common knowledge now that we're dating, and suddenly I'm inquiring about large bank accounts? Sounds a little suspicious."

Draco smiled then, and her heart jumped. "You're just using me for my money, is that it?"

"Oh dear, you've figured me out," she laughed. "Guess you'll be breaking up with me now."

"Maybe I'm using you," he said with a smirk. "For … your …." He faltered.

"My what?" she prodded. "Advice on hair care?"

Draco laughed, clutching his sides, and Hermione started laughing with him. She was amazed at how good-looking he was when he laughed or smiled, and enjoyed being the cause of it.

"It wasn't … that funny," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "I've been under so much stress lately, but you have helped to decrease it. Drastically. I haven't laughed like that in …." His smile faded as he tried to remember feeling so free and light. He couldn't.

A loud _pop!_ announced the arrival of Chippy. "Dinner is ready, Master," he squeaked.

Draco recovered himself. "Excellent. We'll be dining in here."

Chippy bowed low and disappeared.

Draco took out his wand and raised the coffee table to a more suitable height for dining, then Summoned two chairs from one corner of the room. The food appeared on the table as he and Hermione sat down. They ate in pensive silence for the first fifteen minutes.

Then Hermione spoke. "Where do we go from here?"

"I've been thinking about what happens after we find this person. Do you have access to Veritaserum at Hogwarts?" he asked.

"I'm not sure if Horace keeps any in stock. I'll ask him."

"If not, try Blaise," Draco suggested. "If memory serves, he likes to be prepared for all eventualities. If he doesn't have any, we should consider brewing it ourselves."

"I can start tomorrow, if you'd like," she offered. "I'll pick up the ingredients I don't have at the Apothecary."

"No, I'll brew it here. I don't want there to be any chance that it be tainted by whoever might come across it at the school." He looked around the room. "That corner there should be adequate. We can keep an eye on it that way. I should have all the ingredients here already, so there's no need to make a trip to Diagon Alley."

Hermione nodded. "I'm trying to think of what I can do over the next week."

Draco shrugged. "Something might come up when we go over the cards I made. If not, that's all right."

"I can contact some of those banks for you," she offered.

He stared at her a long moment, as if he was deciding, then he blinked and looked away, his jaw flexing. "We'll see."

After dinner, Draco showed her every card he had made and said something about each person. The green cards were people he didn't suspect, but he had done as she had asked and made a card for everyone he could think of. The stack included Greg, and his parents.

"What, I don't get a card?" Hermione joked.

"I think I've ruled you out," he said, smiling sideways at her. "You aren't likely to use Dark Magic, like the curse put on the letters."

"Ah. That's true."

The tan cards were people he didn't think had the resources to pull off the blackmail so spectacularly for so many years.

"Eventually, they would make a mistake," he argued. "They can't be ruled out, but I don't think it's them."

Yellow cards were dedicated to those Draco didn't know as well, including business associates, or people with whom he was barely acquainted. Finally, light grey cards contained the names of people he thought most likely to be the blackmailer. The set included any witch or wizard who had, at some point, used the Dark Arts on a regular basis, and anyone who had a strong reason to dislike Draco or his family.

"The thing is," he said in frustration. "If I think long enough, I can convince myself that anyone is capable, and has enough motive, to want to hurt me. However, I'm almost certain that the spell he used limits the field to the grey set of cards."

Hermione flipped through the stack and saw a lot of familiar names. Rabastan and Rodolphus LeStrange, Theodore Nott and his parents, Bradford and Athena Nott, Gregory Goyle's father, Joel, Blaise Zabini and his mother, even Pansy and her mother, Hyacinth. It had to have been the hardest list to compile, second-guessing the people he knew best: his friends and family.

"Do you have a gut feeling?" she asked him quietly.

Draco peered at her through his fringe. "Over the years, I have suspected a lot of people. It did me no good, only made me anxious and even less trusting than I am now. I started to see the blackmailer in everyone I came in contact with, so I forced myself to stop looking for him in people's eyes, faces, and words." He sighed. "No, no gut feeling."

"I can't believe Pansy is on a grey card," Hermione said, reading through the information Draco had written.

"She's been in love with me for years. A few months ago, she came to me with a proposition. Marry her, and I would gain control over the Parkinson estate. Suspicion ran rampant through my mind. Had she been blackmailing all these years, biding her time until she knew my situation was desperate, and then making me an offer that would alleviate the strain?"

"I see." Hermione stared at the card, a ripple of jealousy passing through her. "She's in love with you. You had lunch with her yesterday."

Draco turned his head to look at her reading Pansy's card. Had her tone contained jealousy? Could it possibly have caused the slight hitch to her voice he had heard? Surely not!

She felt him staring and when their eyes met, he had a very strange expression on his face. "What?" she asked.

When he spoke, his voice was equally strange. "Pansy is an old friend."

"I know," Hermione said, going to the next card.

He decided he must have heard wrong. "I can't believe how long we've been sitting here," he said as she read.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Eleven-thirty." Draco stood to stretch his legs. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"Do you have butterbeer?" she asked, glancing up.

"Sure." He handed her a bottle as he started to walk slow circles around the room, his expression pensive.

It took Hermione ten more minutes to finish the cards. She yawned as she returned the grey set to the box. "Wow. I'm tired. I should get going."

Draco returned to the sofa and took the box off the table, placing it on a bookshelf. "I'll contact the banks early in the week, and hopefully learn something."

Hermione stood and gathered her things. "I think I'll have a look at that spell, see if anything jumps out at me."

"Here." He pulled a book off the shelf. "I found it on page 427. It's a starting point."

"Thanks." She smiled as she accepted it.

Draco walked with her to the large fireplace.

Hermione clutched a handful of Floo powder, but paused before throwing it into the crackling flames. "I'd like to … settle one more thing."

"Sure," he said, leaning against the wall.

"So we, um, slept together tonight."

Confusion, desire, amusement and understanding flashed through his eyes. "I … reckon we did," he said, chuckling lightly and scratching his head.

"Was it … good?" she asked.

"Course," he exclaimed promptly, as though offended at the suggestion it could be anything but. "Bloody fantastic. We both were."

Hermione smiled. "I thought so. What did we have for dinner?"

"The only thing I know how to prepare: fettuccine alfredo. It's quite good, I assure you."

"Sounds delicious," she said.

"Maybe I'll actually cook it some time."

"That sounds nice. Night, Draco."

"Good night, Hermione."

She hesitated again before engaging the Floo Network.

He answered her unspoken question. "We went one round—amazing—you stayed the night, but left in the morning to go back to Hogwarts in time to meet your parents for breakfast."

This time, her smile made his breath hitch.

"Lovely. See you soon, Draco." She released the handful of powder, stepped into the flames and announced her destination, then disappeared.

**ooo**

A/N: Thanks for reading! Beta thanks go to Manda, pokeystar, & drcjsnider. Artwork for this chapter was done by melia_eothria on LiveJournal. Music is thanks to inadaze22. :) Chapter title comes from "Henry IV" by Shakespeare.


	12. What the Hearts Wants

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 12**** - - What the Heart Wants**

**- - -**

_The heart wants what it wants. There's no logic to those things. You meet someone and you fall in love and that's that._

_~ Woody Allen_

**- - -**

Draco arrived at his office one hour earlier than his usual eight o'clock. He wanted to get a head start on his day in order to leave time to contact the banks on the list Hermione had given him. He brewed himself a cup of coffee while he read his mail with his feet propped up on his personal assistant's desk.

Caleb wasn't due until seven-thirty, at which time he would normally start a pot of coffee, sort the mail, order Draco's favorite pastry, and start his fire.

Draco finished the mail and retreated to his office before anyone else arrived. He rearranged his morning schedule and sent notices to anyone who would be affected. At promptly nine, he shut himself in the office with strict instructions to Caleb that he not be disturbed, no matter what.

The bank in Paris was already open, but Draco hadn't wanted to seem too eager by Flooing first thing. At five after nine, ten-oh-five in Paris, Draco initiated the Floo network, and requested to speak with the manager of la Banque française de la Magie, in Paris, France.

A sharp, edgy man appeared after a few minutes.

"Bonjour," Draco began. "Parlez-vous Anglais?"

"Oui," the man said.

"I would like to speak to the manager of the bank, Christophe Peronnet."

"I am Christophe." The man sounded bored and didn't appear to have recognized Draco.

"I am interested in obtaining information from you."

Peronnet's expression became interested. "One moment," he said. "Let me secure zis line." He disappeared from view and Draco saw the connection shimmer. "Is better. Information, you say. Is not easy to obtain."

"I will be as specific as possible," Draco said. "I want a list of the names of every person who has made a deposit of greater than fifty thousand Galleons over the last seven years."

Peronnet's eyes widened and Draco imagined that he was tallying the cost in his head.

"Zis is asking much," Peronnet said with a frown. "Why do you seek zhese names?"

Draco frowned in disapproval. "It was my understanding that people come to you when they don't want to answer a long list of questions."

The Frenchman nodded slowly. "Understood. You just vant zee names? No numbers, or balances?"

"Just the number of deposits. I don't need exact figures. If … Arthur Weasley deposited fifty thousand Galleons to your bank three times, that is all the information I want."

Peronnet thought for a moment, and Draco saw a manipulative glint in his eyes when he spoke again. "I can have zis for you in three weeks for one hundred Galleons."

Draco didn't even blink. "How much to get the information tomorrow?"

"Five hundred," the man responded, also without pause.

"Done. If the information isn't ready twenty-four hours from now, you won't get the full amount. Every hour it is late, I deduct one hundred Galleons."

"Zat won't be a problem," Peronnet assured him.

"Good. I will come through tomorrow after you open to collect the documents."

Peronnet agreed and Draco severed the connection. He felt a mixture of satisfaction and guilt, the latter due to Hermione's insistence that he not resort to bribes. However, all he wanted was names and frequencies. Nothing useful could be done with the information, so there would be no harm to anyone except the blackmailer, should Draco catch him this way.

He downed his third cup of coffee that morning and went to the next bank on his list.

**ooo**

Tuesday morning, as Hermione sat talking with Harry, she received a letter. She stared at the enormous, majestic owl that had borne the missive, hesitant to try and remove the note tied carefully to its right leg.

Harry chuckled. "I think Malfoy's trying to compensate for something."

Hermione scowled and hastily untied the twine, freeing the letter. The eagle nipped playfully at her finger and then took off, the force rattling the flatware on the table.

"Are you going to open it?" Harry asked.

She stared at the stiff, white envelope in her hand. Her name was scrawled on the face in what she had come to recognize as Draco's handwriting. For some reason, her heart started beating a little harder.

"No," she finally said, despite wanting to rip into the pretty paper. Draco might have mentioned something about their task, and she didn't want to have to lie to Harry. Of course, she also didn't want Harry around to see her reaction, whatever it might be.

"How personal can it be?" Harry asked, finishing his last piece of toast. "He sent it via the school mail system. He had to know you'd get it in here."

Hermione stood and pushed in her chair. "Regardless, I'll see you at lunch, Harry."

She walked as quickly through the Hall as she could without running or appearing to be in a hurry. As soon as she was in a corridor with no one was around, she rushed into the nearest empty room, locked the door, and went to the window seat. She stared at her name on the envelope for a few seconds, then berated herself for behaving like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

Then she brought the envelope to her nose and inhaled, a slow smile creeping across her face at the familiar aroma of Hawthorne Inks. Then she carefully removed the seal—a silver crane—releasing the card. It, too, was made of stiff, white parchment, a stark "M" printed in black on the front.

Hermione counted to three and opened the card.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I trust you are safely tucked away in some corner of the castle to read this. I had good success yesterday with my task and should have some information for you by this afternoon. If you are free today, stop by my office anytime after six-thirty. Otherwise, please send a more convenient date and time to meet. _

_Sincerely,_

_Draco_

Hermione's heart fell as she read, and she felt ridiculous for being so excited about receiving the unexciting note. What had she really expected?

In addition, it sounded as though he had gone against her wishes and contacted the banks for more information. She was even more disappointed and tossed the card on the floor in anger. Again, she asked herself if she expected any different. The honest truth was, yes! She had seen such a wonderful, generous side to Draco in the time she'd spent with him, but she had to again remind herself that those events had been faked. She had no idea which side was truly him, though she suspected it was the side that had deliberately ignored her wishes.

She got up, picked up the letter, and stuffed it unceremoniously back into the envelope. As she walked to her classroom before the first period of the day, her mind drifted to the Friday night before. He had expressed no remorse at the thought of bribing these banks for information, and she wondered about it. What would she have done in his place, considering everything he had been through in the last seven years?

By the time she reached her room, Hermione had convinced herself not to judge him so harshly next time. She couldn't approve of him paying bribes, but then she couldn't condemn him for it either.

**ooo**

Tuesdays were one of Hermione's favorite weekdays because she and Ginny had a standing lunch date in Diagon Alley.

When Hermione arrived at their usual table, Ginny was flipping through the week's issue of _Witch Weekly_, a slight frown on her face. "Hi, Ginny," she said, taking the empty seat.

"Well, I must admit, it was nice being able to read about your love life in this publication, and in the gossip section of the newspaper—since I don't get to see you often enough—but there's been nothing printed this week." Ginny set the magazine aside. "Everything okay?"

"Oh! Yes, just fine," said Hermione, smiling confidently. "Draco and I didn't go out last weekend, or all of last week, so I guess there was nothing new to report."

Ginny eyed her friend suspiciously. "You saw him three times in one week, and now it's been nearly two? That doesn't make sense."

"I saw him Friday," Hermione said, feigning interest in the menu that Ginny knew she knew by heart. "We just didn't go out."

"Yeah?" Ginny asked excitedly, reaching over to lower the menu so she could look Hermione in the face. "What did you do?"

"He had me over to his house," Hermione responded lightly, as though it was an ordinary occasion that didn't even merit mentioning. "He cooked," she added, almost as an afterthought.

Ginny's eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. "He _cooked_?" she repeated, incredulous. Then she smiled wickedly. "How was it?"

"Delicious," she replied, avoiding Ginny's prying eyes. It was strange, trying to act falsely innocent of something she hadn't really done. Unlike all previous topics, such as what she thought about Draco, or did she like him, this was one she couldn't answer truthfully.

"Not the food, you ninny," Ginny scolded. "You know what I mean, I know you do! You slept with him!"

"Shh!" Hermione hissed, blushing. "It's not something I want broadcasted, you know."

Ginny was grinning now, and she leaned in closer to Hermione. Her voice was low when she spoke. "I demand details! You owe me you know, for those shoes. What was it like? Was he amazing? I've heard he's very talented, that he has a few … signature moves."

If possible, Hermione's face turned redder. "Ginny! This isn't exactly something I want to dissect. It happened, it was amazing, let's have lunch."

"Oh, no," said Ginny forcefully. "You won't let me talk about Harry, and it's been ages since you've slept with someone who isn't my brother. We are talking about this, in detail. I want to know everything, and I won't accept anything less."

"I'm sorry, you'll have to be disappointed then. I'm not ready to discuss it ad nauseum." Hermione didn't want to make up a host of details she would have to remember later, in case the conversation came up again. "It was … amazing. That's all you get right now. Let me enjoy it for a while before I have to spill, all right?"

Ginny pouted. "Fine. But you will share; I'll make sure of it."

"If you say so," Hermione agreed lightly, content to worry about the rest later. Who knew? Maybe they would discover the blackmailer and break up before the subject could be broached again. This thought, however, left her feeling unsettled.

**ooo**

At three minutes before six-thirty, Hermione arrived in the wizarding business section of London, just outside the building which housed, among others, Draco's offices.

The lift told her that Malfoy, Inc. could be found on the seventeenth floor, and she pressed the appropriate button. When the doors opened, she stepped into a small, oval-shaped reception area. A large desk sat in the back left of the room, and ten chairs filled the space to the right. There was a door just behind the desk, and a bright hallway with one wall all windows to its left. Above the desk, where a young man with wavy, dark brown hair sat, "Malfoy, Inc." was spelled out in large, 3-D letters.

The man looked up. "May I help you?"

Hermione walked to the desk. "Yes, I would like to see Mr. Malfoy … Caleb," she said, locating a name plate on the counter before her. "I believe he is expecting me."

Caleb's smile was a tired one. "Of course, Miss Granger. It's good to finally meet you. I'm Mr. Malfoy's personal assistant, Caleb Matthews."

He extended his hand and Hermione shook it. "Nice to meet you, as well," she said, inwardly shocked that Draco didn't have a woman in the front position of his office. She had expected to be greeted by a buxom, long-legged, gorgeous witch who couldn't count past twenty. Again, she had made an assumption about him that had been utterly wrong.

"His office is the last one down the hall, straight ahead. I'll let him know you're here," said Caleb.

"Thank you." Hermione started down the hall, admiring the view from the large picture windows. On the walls opposite the windows were pictures, generic corporate images that she had seen on the walls of lawyers and doctors offices. She passed eight doors with various name plates, all closed on dark rooms, before reaching the last one, which was open.

She knocked on the door frame anyway.

"Come in." Draco's voice was low.

The office was dark, with most of the shades drawn. A low fire crackled in the fireplace, causing shadows to dance on the walls. Hermione didn't see Draco right away, and she paused after taking a few steps inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark. She found him in a chair facing the fireplace.

"Um, hi," she said tentatively, taking a seat in the chair beside his.

"Hello." He still didn't look at her. "Thank you for coming."

"It was no problem. I can't stay long though, I've got a staff meeting tonight after dinner, and I can't be late."

He nodded slowly, not taking his eyes from the fire. "I have information for you. I contacted the banks yesterday and they were reasonable. I asked only for names and transaction frequencies, nothing that might possibly be useful to anyone, should the information fall into nefarious hands." The right corner of his lips turned up in what might have been a smile.

"Oh," she said, oddly pleased that he had thought of her concerns while conducting his business. "Was anything useful?"

He shrugged and brought a drink to his mouth, polishing off the last of the amber contents. "I haven't had the time to look at it. I thought you wanted to do that."

Finally, then, he looked at her, and even in the poor lighting, Hermione saw that he looked exhausted.

"How … how have you been sleeping?" she asked.

Draco lifted one eyebrow in amusement. "Are you concerned about my well-being?"

"Are you drunk?" she accused with a disapproving glare. On the table beside his chair sat a mostly-empty bottle containing the same amber liquid that had been in his cup.

"I sure hope so," he hummed, turning away from her.

Hermione was about to scold him for wasting their time when he extended his arm toward her, a sheet of parchment in his hand.

"I got this today."

She took the note and opened it.

_Malfoy brat:_

_It's that time again. You know how this goes. The usual. No funny business. You have one week._

_I see you've taken up with a witch. You probably needed to get laid. But a Mudblood? You've sunk low, Malfoy. Very, very low.  
_

_You disgust me. Her kind aren't good for much of anything, but caring for her is despicable. Your ancestors, generations of the purest blood in the wizarding world, would banish you—your father should strip you of your magic for this betrayal. _

_Until next time._

Hermione stared at the hateful words, reading through a second time.

"Care for a drink?" Draco asked, offering her the bottle he had used to refill his glass.

"No …. Is this why you're drinking? This letter?" she asked, surprised.

His return expression was incredulous. "How can you even ask that? It's bloody terrible. Disgusting …." He trailed off, scowling into his newly-filled glass, and drank half of its contents.

"I agree with you, but it's nothing I haven't heard before."

"Really?" he said. "That's awful."

"I think we can use it, actually. Learn more about the blackmailer through it." She bit her lip, reading it again.

"I don't … what can we possibly learn?" Draco stood and pushed his chair dramatically until it collided with hers, then threw himself into it once more and leaned over to glare at the letter in her hand, as though he could intimidate it into giving up its secrets.

She found his slightly-drunken antics amusing. "I would almost certainly say that the blackmailer is a man. Though, from the words alone, that cannot be determined. It's more the tone, I think. Surely, we can rule out a few people, at least."

Draco stared at the letter as though seeing it for the first time. "I know Pansy didn't write that. She doesn't drift to that side of the boat."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, and he smiled widely at her. "Is there anyone else we can cross off? Anyone who doesn't share these blood superiority beliefs?"

"We'll have to look at the cards," Draco said, frowning as he tried to focus on the letter. "I don't know otherwise. I'm sure a lot of people I work with, though I don't know how many of them, are grey cards."

"That doesn't matter. It's important to rule out as many people as we can."

Draco sighed and finished the last of his drink. "I would never do that, you know. Use you that way. I don't … don't think like that."

"I know," she said quietly.

"There are very few people I know who are that depraved."

"Maybe this can be a good thing," she said, folding the letter and returning it to him. "If this bloke gets so upset at you over me, maybe he'll make a mistake and slip something into a letter that will expose him."

"Hmm," he said, absently taking the letter and tucking in his robes.

A few minutes passed in strangely comfortable silence. "Where is the bank information?" she asked finally, when it appeared Draco had nothing to say.

Draco stood, slowly walked to his desk, and pulled a folder from the top right drawer. "Here," he said, handing it to her. "The bank in Finland wasn't in business seven years ago, so chances are, the blackmailer didn't use that one. But you never know."

"What do you want me to do with all of this?" she asked, flipping through the information.

"I …." He frowned, then shook his head in frustration. "I'm not thinking today! The cards are at my house; you don't have them." He held out his hand. "I'll take that. Maybe I'll have time this week to look through them."

Hermione nearly gave the folder back to him, but the way his voice strained and the hint of helplessness that flashed through his eyes made her pull it back. "I'll do it. I'll get the cards tonight, or you can bring them to me."

He hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"I've got a light week ahead. I'm positive."

"All right," Draco reluctantly agreed. Then he smiled, feeling the pressure ease slightly from his shoulders. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," she said, returning his smile. "I should be going. I'll be rushing through dinner as it is. I'll be in touch about all of this."

"Friday, right?" he said, walking her to the door.

"Yes. Friday. Bye, Draco."

**ooo**

Wednesdays were Hermione's busiest days. She had classes from eight in the morning until lunch, then for two more hours in the afternoon. Between lunch and her last class, she usually stopped in her quarters to grab her notes, then she sought a quiet corner of the library in which to read an article or two from the most recent journal she had received.

Just as Hermione remembered to grab an extra bottle of ink, as the one in her bag was almost empty, a chime indicated that someone was calling her through the Floo. She expected to see Draco's face when she answered, but was surprised to see Charlie grinning roguishly at her through the green flames.

"Hello, Hermione!" he said pleasantly.

"Oh! Charlie! Hi!" She set her things on her bed and knelt at the fireplace. "How are you? This … is unexpected."

"I know, and I'm sorry about that," he said. "I need a favor."

"Sure." All thoughts of Draco had evaporated from her mind as she looked upon the face of the last man she had been in love with. On some days, she still was.

"Friday night, there's this … thing. I need a date. I had one, but she cancelled on me."

"What time?" she asked without hesitation.

He grinned, a stray lock of hair falling into his eyes. Charlie jerked his head in an attempt to move it, but it fell back. "Can you be here at six?"

Hermione reached over and drew the strand away from his face. "Absolutely."

"You're a lifesaver. It's formal. Do you still have that purple dress?" he asked.

"I do," she replied, feeling caught up as though in a whirlwind.

"Perfect. Six, Friday. My place." He winked. "Miss you, Hermione."

"You too," she replied automatically, smiling. "Bye!"

He grinned and then he was gone.

Hermione stared into the flames, and all of the things she should have considered during her conversation with Charlie flooded her all at once. She was supposed to see Draco Friday night, but he probably wouldn't mind rescheduling for Saturday.

**ooo**

_Draco,_

_Something came up last minute and I won't make it Friday night. Can we reschedule for Saturday?_

_Hermione_

**ooo**

_Hermione,_

_Your scheduling conflict was fortuitous; I will be required to work late that evening. As for Saturday, why don't you join me for tea? We can begin work early and perhaps make an appearance in public that evening._

_Draco_

**ooo**

_Draco,_

_Thank you for being so understanding. Tea on Saturday sounds lovely. I will see you then._

_Hermione_

**ooo**

Friday evening at nine, Greg Goyle arrived at Malfoy Manor. Draco met him at the door, and together they traveled by Floo Network to the _Leaky Cauldron_. From there, they headed to a pub in Muggle London, one Draco had visited in the course of his work.

The place was smoky and dark, but Draco nodded in satisfaction. It was perfect for his purposes that evening: spend time with a friend, play a bit of billiards, and slowly but surely get hammered.

"So," said Greg, two hours and many drinks later with a goofy grin on his face.

Draco was hunched over, lining up his next shot. He waited for his friend to continue, and when he didn't, Draco aimed, pulled back on the cue, and took his shot. He missed the pocket. He wasn't very good at billiards, but it relaxed him in a way nothing else could because he didn't care about winning.

"So, what?" he said, standing his cue on end and leaning against a large wooden pillar.

"You and Granger," Greg said as he took his turn. "Never would've seen that one coming."

Draco chuckled. "No, certainly not."

"Anyway, where is she? How come you're out with me and not getting cozy with her?" Greg sunk his shot; he wasn't half-bad.

"She had other plans tonight," Draco replied, searching for his glass. He frowned when he found it empty.

"Yeah?" Greg took aim for his second shot. "Doing what?"

Draco shrugged and signaled for one of the mingling bar maids. "She didn't say."

The woman whose attention he had garnered swayed toward them, her every move designed to encourage the men in the pub to increase their tips. "What'll it be, love," she purred, her eyes taking him in appreciatively.

"Another pitcher of Guinness, please," he replied, handing her a large enough note.

She stuffed it into her cleavage and winked. "Coming right up."

"Why is it that women are always interested in you, Draco?" Greg asked, staring at the remains of his last beer. "You attract them like … like flies."

"That's a wonderful image," mumbled Draco. "I have found that acting like you don't care about the women around you, like you aren't interested, works particularly well. Of course, even when it's not an act, the result is the same."

"Didn't you ask what she was doing tonight?" Greg asked.

Draco got set to take his next shot. "No. It didn't matter; she was unavailable."

"Yeah, but … that seems so unlike you," said Greg. "Not to want to know, I mean. You two have only been dating a short time, aren't you worried that … I dunno, maybe she's …"

Draco straightened after missing the shot. He hadn't even considered what Hermione might be doing that night. A hint of curiosity formed inside him as he thought about Greg's comments, even though they weren't really dating and only got together now in order to work on the task of investigating the blackmailer. Not only was it none of his business, but he had no right to ask what she was doing, or to care. Greg couldn't know that, however.

"She has her own life. I would gain nothing by demanding she tell me what she's doing when we aren't together. It's Granger. She would never stand for it, and I'd end up with my bits hexed."

The tall, blonde bar maid returned with the pitcher of beer and Draco's change, which she slipped into his hand along with a series of ten numbers written on a scrap of paper. She was gone when Draco grasped their significance, and he crumbled the paper into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket.

Greg smiled nonchalantly. "Speaking of your bits, I heard you slept with her."

Draco frowned. He knew he hadn't told anyone, and only a few people knew their cover story, that Hermione had gone to his house and he had prepared a meal for her. None of those people ran in the same circles, and only two even knew Greg.

"Where did you hear that?" Draco asked curiously.

Greg shrugged and focused on his turn. "Just, around. People talking."

Draco doubted that, but didn't press the matter.

"Is it true?" Greg asked after sinking another ball.

"You know I don't make a habit of discussing these things," he replied. It would be dangerous for him to think too much on the topic; he certainly couldn't dwell on it for any period of time.

"I'm not asking for a blow by blow," Greg said, enjoying his innuendo. "Just … you know … did you shag her? She's different than the others."

Draco sighed, his mind beginning to wander. "That's an understatement."

"So, you did?" Greg pressed.

"Yes, Greg. Merlin, since when did you become so interested?" Draco snapped, snatching his cue and walking around the table.

"Since when do you not want to admit when you've slept with someone?" Greg returned.

Draco clenched his jaw, trying to ignore his friend's comment. It was true; he normally didn't hesitate to mention his conquests. He never went into detail, but affirmation was readily provided. This time, he made his shot and then looked at Greg. "This is different, as you said."

"Right. You're in a relationship."

The conversation reminded him too much of the one he had with Pansy the week before, and he hadn't enjoyed it then, either. Draco took careful aim and knocked his ball into the black, eight-ball, sending it flying across the table into a side pocket.

"Crap," he muttered. "You win again. Let's take a break."

**ooo**

"Here to present the award for Outstanding Terrestrial Integration is the head of the International Coalition for the Advancement of Dragon Research, Mister Xavier Montague."

Hermione clapped politely along with the rest of the room from her table near the front. She felt Charlie shift beside her, and when she glanced at him, she saw a line of sweat beading at his hairline. She frowned. It was next to impossible to make Charlie nervous, much less slightly uncomfortable. The temperature was pleasant, so she didn't think he was too hot ….

A strapping man walked to the podium, grinning broadly. The applause faded and he began speaking. "Every four years, this prestigious award goes to one member of our community who has proven him or herself to be concerned with the care of the world around us. Great care is taken in selecting this individual, as he or she gains an enormous responsibility for the coming four years."

Montague cleared his throat and Hermione could tell the speech would be a long one. Charlie was fidgeting more than she had ever seen him do, and she hoped the night would be over soon so she could ask him what the problem was.

She looked around the table full of Charlie's coworkers to see if anyone else was suffering from whatever had gripped Charlie, but they were all paying attention to the speaker. Charlie's boss kept casting a glance in his direction, but didn't seem to notice Charlie's agitation.

Hermione reached across the table for Charlie's hand, and when he wrapped his large fingers around hers, his hand felt clammy. Still, he gripped her hand as though it was a life-line, the only thing keeping him above a raging sea. Around them, cameras flashed, just as they had been all night, much to her annoyance. Why did people have to be so bloody interested in her all the time? Charlie was also quite famous in Romania, and so combined, they were drawing a number of looks.

Soon Hermione lost the feeling in her hand, but she didn't dare withdraw it. The speaker had moved from the history of the award to describing the man who would be receiving it that night.

"… Not only has he expanded Romania's earth-friendly Dragon Policies, he has discovered a way to reduce damaging smoke emissions by 25% through the careful manipulation of dragon feed."

Montague turned and beamed in the direction of Hermione's table. "It is with great pleasure that the International Coalition for the Advancement of Dragon Research presents this award, for Outstanding Terrestrial Integration, to Mr. Charles Weasley."

The crowd erupted in the loudest applause of the evening. Charlie squeezed her hand and then released it, leaving his seat beside her and walking purposefully to the podium. Hermione stared at Xavier Montague as he joined with the crowd in praise, and then clapped Charlie on the back before returning to his seat.

Charlie cleared his throat and pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. "Thank you, Mr. Montague, distinguished members of the International Board, honored guests." His eyes landed on Hermione then and he gave her a strained smile.

It was then her brain was jump-started back into action. She stared at Charlie, incredulous that he had invited her for accompany him to "this thing," he had said earlier in a dismissive tone, without letting her know that he was the guest of honor.

Her indignation was short-lived, however, soon replaced with fierce pride. She knew how hard he had worked over the last four years, his efforts focused on improving the lives of the dragons in his care and the conditions in which they lived. He truly deserved this award.

Hermione glanced around the room. Where were his parents? His family? Surely they knew what their son had done, the incredible achievements he had made, and would want to support him on this momentous night!

She didn't see anyone, but then the room was very dark.

"Finally," said Charlie, grinning now that his speech was near its end, "I'd like to thank my family—"

A great whooping cheer went up and Hermione knew it was George.

Charlie chuckled. "—my family, who has always been there for me, even through impossible times."

Hermione swallowed hard, knowing he referred to their relationship.

"Last, but certainly not least, my most ardent supporter and dearest friend." His eyes fell blazingly on her. "Without you, without your encouragement, your passionate defense of all magical creatures, I wouldn't be here."

Cameras flashed all around them and Hermione found she was having trouble breathing. Time seemed to stop as they stared at one another, as stars seemed to explode around her.

When he tore his gaze away, time resumed its normal course. The moment had passed and in its wake, Hermione felt empty, cold. Charlie's words were bouncing around in her mind, ricocheting off the walls of her skull, until they were an indistinguishable mass of noise.

Charlie returned to his seat and the cameras went off again. Hermione smiled at him, but it was only pieces of what it had once been. Something was missing; she could feel it in her bones.

After the ceremony concluded, Charlie was bombarded with people congratulating him. Hermione moved away and was soon joined by Harry, Ron and Ginny.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Ron said, his voice strained.

"It was a last minute thing," she responded, trying to sound light-hearted. "He got ditched a few days ago, and, well, I'm the back-up friend."

Ginny was eyeing her so intensely that Hermione couldn't look at her, so she turned to Ron. "I'm so glad your family was here. This is a huge night for Charlie! I had no idea he was getting this award until Montague called his name!"

"Really?" Harry asked. "Charlie didn't tell you?"

"No. But you know him, doesn't like to make a big deal of things."

"Does Malfoy know you're here?" Ron asked accusingly.

Hermione, Ginny and Harry all looked at Ron in surprise. "There isn't anything to tell," Hermione said defensively. She couldn't fathom why Ron would be suddenly concerned about Draco's thoughts on her going somewhere with Charlie. It was almost as if Ron was worried about Draco getting hurt, which made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

The rest of the Weasleys joined them, all chattering at once. Molly, especially, was beside herself with pride. They had all spoken to Charlie now, and he had told them to leave, that the rest would be boring brown-nosing and schmoozing and he appreciated them coming.

It was another hour before Charlie and Hermione could leave. She hadn't been able to speak with him since the evening began, and was anxious for the chance to both scold and congratulate him.

Once they were outside the main dining room, well away from cameras and reporters, Charlie let out a long, slow breath, leaning heavily against the wall. "Phew! Glad that's over!"

"Charlie Weasley," Hermione started, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am very angry with you for not telling me that this evening was for you! I was the only person in that room who was surprised—and what a surprise it was!" She beamed at him, relaxing her arms. "I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am!"

He grinned sheepishly and pushed himself off the wall. "I didn't want to tell you, for some reason." He grabbed one of her hands and they started walking down the hall. "I was going to, I promise, but then my date cancelled and you said you'd come with me, and suddenly it was too hard. I took the easy way out."

"I suppose I can forgive you," she said.

Charlie turned down another hallway and stopped outside a door. "The … Coalition got me a room here tonight," he said, pulling an old-fashioned key out of his pocket and using it to open the door.

"Yeah?" Hermione asked, following him in. "This is one of the nicest hotels in wizarding Romania, isn't it?"

"Exactly," he said, crossing the room and pulling a bottle of champagne from a bucket of ice.

Hermione's nerves were on fire, pulsing rapidly, almost painfully. She bit her lip as Charlie poured two glasses. He handed one to her and they tapped them together. He took a sip and set his glass down.

She held onto hers, not sure if it would be a good idea to drink the entire thing, or none at all. There were pros and cons for both courses of action.

Charlie moved around the room, examining the luxurious features like a kid who had been given a handful of Galleons and released in a toy shop.

When he disappeared into another part of the suite, Hermione downed her drink and went to look out the window. Her hands were shaking as she parted the sheers and she pressed her cheek to the window, enjoying the feel of the cold air outside.

Before she knew it, Charlie had returned. He had removed his dress robes, tie, and unbuttoned his shirt. "More?" he asked, refilling her glass.

"No, thank you," she said, stepping away from the window. Her eyes darted to the door and part of her felt a strong and foreign desire to run for it.

"I meant what I said." He moved closer, sipping from his glass. "About you being so important to me. To my life."

"You said all of that?" she joked weakly.

Charlie smiled and for a brief instant, they stared at each other, his green eyes intense and full of life and desire. Then he put down the glass in his hand and closed the distance between them, wrapping his strong arm around her waist and pulling her to him.

She gasped as his lips crashed onto hers and he kissed her passionately. He wasn't gentle, but he was careful; he was demanding, but not unyielding. He slipped his tongue through her lips and she sighed, lost the moment she had looked into his eyes.

Charlie reached his free hand to her hair and removed the spell that kept it locked in its perfectly sculpted style. He then threaded his fingers through the thick curls, gripping the hair at the back of her head.

Then his hands began exploring, tracing a familiar route over her body. When his lips left hers to trail down her neck, a single thought broke through the haze that had clouded over her brain, and she stiffened, her eyes flying open.

"Oh!" she breathed.

Charlie stopped and pulled back, his expression confused. "What?" he asked.

Hermione took a small step away and he let her, his frown deepening.

"Hermione, what … are you …?"

"It's fine," she said, not sure what question she was answering. Her senses were returning quickly, and it occurred to her why she had wanted to run for the door just moments before. "I … I can't do this. I'm so sorry!" she whispered, horrified at herself for reasons she couldn't sort out just then.

His jaw tightened. "All right," he said slowly. "It's okay, we … we don't have to."

Hermione sank into the nearest chair.

Charlie moved to sit on the bed, facing her, waiting.

"I … I'm seeing someone," she said, tears pricking her eyes.

He hadn't expected that and his eyes widened. "You are? Oh. I see."

"I'm sorry, Charlie."

"Right, then … What are you doing here? Why did you agree to see me tonight?" he asked.

"You needed me," she answered immediately.

Charlie let out a sigh and shook his head. "Hermione. You know how these things end, how they always end."

She shrugged, feeling ridiculous and foolish. "I … I didn't really think about that."

"Still, I think you should ask yourself why you kissed me that way, when you're with another man." Charlie chuckled, peering at her through his fringe.

Hermione almost laughed; instead, she smiled. Her thoughts were so jumbled, so confused, that she had no hope of trying to disentangle them until she had time to focus, to think. She couldn't work out what she felt. The thought that had jolted her back into reality had been about Draco; she had thought about him while kissing Charlie. That much she knew.

It was a good thing, too, that Draco had crossed her mind. She shouldn't be sleeping with Charlie when she was supposedly dating Draco. For one thing, Charlie would eventually find out, if he hadn't already, and she couldn't explain the full truth to him because of her promise to Draco.

"It's … complicated," she said, shrugging. "Impossible. Kissing you was a reaction, it's familiar, and it's natural. We've been like this for years, and I'm not used to being serious with someone." Hermione was surprised at the raw truth of her words. Kissing him _was_ a reaction; she didn't choose to kiss him, she had simply done it. Was that a good thing, or not?

"You're … serious?" Charlie repeated.

She nodded without considering if she should have cleared it with Draco first. "You didn't know?"

"How would I have known?" he asked, frustration leaking into his tone.

"It's been in the paper," she offered weakly.

"Oh. We aren't always up to date on the reserve."

"I know."

The silence was heavy and awkward. Hermione wanted to leave, but she didn't want them to part badly. Charlie had been there before Draco and would be there after. This was just a pause.

"Who is it?" Charlie asked, his tone harsh. "I presume it's not a secret, since it's in the popular media."

Hermione bit her lip. "Draco Malfoy."

Confusion and then annoyance showed on his face. "Oh. Huh."

"I should go," she said. "I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

Charlie sighed. "No, I should never assume that just because we've done this in the past, it will always happen." He stood and walked over to her, taking her hand as he continued. "I should have realized that someday, things would change, and this wouldn't be possible anymore. Not that … this is all we are, Hermione. You know …" He trailed off; the words weren't necessary.

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, breathing deeply the rugged scent that was his essence. It didn't set her heart racing the way it once had, the way the smell of Hawthorne Inks now did, and this truth made her sad. Something had changed without her notice, and she hadn't been able to properly grieve its passing.

"I know," she whispered, but couldn't return the sentiment. At least she had the cover of her relationship to excuse it.

Charlie stood and stepped away. "Thank you for coming tonight, Hermione. It was perfect, having you on my arm, by my side."

"Oh, Charlie," she breathed, tears finally spilling over. She rushed to him and hugged him tightly. _Why does this feel so much like goodbye?_

"Hey," he said, forcing his voice to sound cheerful. "Why the tears? No one has died, I'll see you again. Hey." He pulled her off so that he could look her in the eye. "Okay?"

"I know," she said, smiling. "I know."

"Good. Now, you'd best run along. Don't want Malfoy hunting me down for keeping you out too late."

Hermione started in horror, then laughed at the sheer absurdity of the situation. "Yeah, I should go." She pulled from his embrace entirely. "Congratulations, Charlie. What an honor. I know you deserved it."

"Thank you," he said. "For sharing this with me."

"Of course," she said. "Good night, Charlie."

"Bye, Hermione."

She closed the hotel room door behind her and practically ran outside. The cold air hit her like dozens of tiny spikes, driving the extraneous thoughts and emotions away. Above all, she wanted to see Draco, and the realization made her laugh again. She was going crazy! It made no sense to leave a man who truly cared about her and then want to see a man who was only associating with her because they had agreed to work together toward a mutually beneficial end.

Draco didn't feel anything for her, despite how convincing he was. She had to constantly repeat this in her mind because her heart simply wouldn't accept that nothing he did was real, that nothing mattered. But then there would be moments—the way he'd look at her, something in his tone—when she wondered if maybe her heart was picking up on something her head refused to see. They were just moments, gone as quickly as they appeared, that had tricked her into believing him, just a little.

And it was those moments she had started to hold onto, no matter how much she wished it otherwise.

**ooo**

**A/N**: Thanks for reading, as always! I love all of your thoughts on the story and your theories on the blackmailer. Speaking of which, I'd like to compile a list with this chapter. I'll be putting up a poll on my profile (if I can figure out how!), and on my LiveJournal, for people to vote who they think the blackmailer is. So if you review this chapter (12), please leave as many guesses as you have for the list, and I will hopefully put up the poll with next week's chapter.

**Credits**: Many thanks to my betas on this chapter, pokeystar & drcjsnider! Thanks to Manda for the last minute read through and help with the title! Playlist, as always, by inadaze22. I was lucky to end up with two pieces of art for this chapter, one by janaparmajana and the other by silverotter1.


	13. Calm Before the Storm

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 13**** - - Calm Before the Storm**

**- - -**

Saturday morning came too soon. Hermione glared at the alarm clock that she always set but rarely had to rely on. She turned it off and groaned into her pillow as memories of the night before flooded her mind. A myriad of emotions overcame her, but one thing was certain: she didn't regret not sleeping with Charlie.

Hermione didn't have much time to dwell on her thoughts, as the alarm left her just enough time to get ready before she visited her parents.

Despite doing her best, she was still sidetracked, and ended up being a little late. Her parents were laughing in the kitchen when she arrived.

"Hi Mum, Dad," she said, her tone subdued.

"There she is!" said Thomas, grinning broadly and hugging her.

"Morning, love," said Elizabeth from where she stood in front of the oven. "All right, then?"

"Everything's fine. I had a late night," Hermione said, taking a seat at the table and peeling a banana.

She didn't miss the look her parents exchanged. Thomas decided he needed to attend to something elsewhere in the house, leaving Hermione alone with her mother. This was intentional, of course. Her parents must have expected that she'd want to talk about her night, and most likely with her mother. This was true, even though they had the conversation all wrong. Hermione didn't want to talk about a long, romantic night with Draco.

"So?" Elizabeth said, not turning around. "How are things with Draco?"

Hermione sighed and took her banana into the kitchen. After getting a glass of milk, she leaned on the counter. "He's … fine. Great. But that's not what I'd like to talk about."

"Oh. All right, dear. What's on your mind?" Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and frowned at the troubled look on Hermione's face.

"I … I saw Charlie last night."

Elizabeth stopped stirring and turned around. "Charlie?"

"Here, let me," Hermione said, stepping around her mother to take over the task. It would help for her to have something to do with her hands while she talked. "He needed someone to go with him to an awards banquet; his date cancelled last minute."

"So he asked you," Elizabeth deduced. "Just like that? Out of nowhere?"

Hermione nodded. Her parents had adored Charlie, but they were also fiercely on her side. They weren't thrilled with the relationship the two had shared since officially ending their courtship. They wanted her happy, but didn't want to see her waste her time waiting for things with Charlie to magically fix themselves.

"Yes, and I agreed to go," she replied defensively. "He's my friend, Mum. It's not the first time he's asked me to accompany him somewhere, you know."

"I remember. What did Draco have to say about all of this?" she asked, stabbing to the heart of the matter. She always had a way of doing that.

"He doesn't know the particulars of what I did last night. I just told him something came up." Hermione was glad she had her back to her mother so she couldn't see the look she knew was there.

"Do you plan on telling him?" Elizabeth asked.

"If he asks, I suppose I will. The thing is, Mum …." Hermione paused, trying to decide how best to say what she didn't even exactly understand herself. "I think it's a good thing I went," she resumed slowly. "I … I think I'm finally starting to get over Charlie. I still felt the pull with him like before, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't as strong, that's for sure, and it was also incomplete. I know I would have always wondered if something like this hadn't happened."

Hermione was now stirring vigorously. "I'm not sure how to explain it, but I realize things with Charlie can never be. So much has happened since we ended, we've both changed so much."

"I was hesitant to mention it, but since we're discussing Charlie, I think this is a good time," Elizabeth said.

Hermione moved so that she could face her mother and still stir. Then she gave her mother her full attention.

"It's been about three weeks since you started seeing Draco. In those three weeks, at least in front of us, you haven't once compared him to Charlie." Elizabeth gave her daughter a pointed look. "Your father and I think that's significant."

Hermione frowned. She couldn't recall an instance where she had compared Draco to Charlie, but there was an easy explanation for the omission. She wasn't truly dating Draco; their association would end, so there was no point in comparisons.

"You're right, I haven't," she conceded. "I'm not sure why you think it's so significant, though." Hermione moved to focus on stirring so she could think without her mother reading her expressions.

"Every single man you've dated since Charlie, that's the first thing you do!" Elizabeth cried, chuckling slightly. "No man has stood a chance of competing with the image of Charlie you have built in your mind. Now Draco comes along, and it's been three weeks without a single mention of his vast shortcomings as compared to Charlie. How can you not think that's significant?"

Hermione's mind worked quickly, deciding to force the issue with herself. Fine. Her mother wanted comparisons, she would get them. Then she stopped to ask herself why she was so intent on proving that Draco was just like every other man she had dated since Charlie. He wasn't, incredibly so. He was charming and mysterious, alluring and sophisticated. Draco and Charlie were different, but unlike the previous men, the differences weren't bad. They were simply different.

Charlie was easy going, he smiled and laughed easily. Draco was harder on the outside, but his wit was sharp and intelligent. Charlie had rugged good looks, tan skin and a muscular fit. Draco was pale and lean, stronger than he appeared. His attractiveness was hard, perfect lines, thin, nimble fingers, and impossibly fine hair. When he smiled, his eyes reminded her of a summer storm over a wide open field. His touch had been like fire, burning all the way to her very essence. His—

"Careful, dear," Elizabeth said, reaching over Hermione to turn down the heat. "Don't want to burn it."

"Sorry, Mum," Hermione said, blushing. She had been so caught up in thinking about Draco that she'd completely stopped stirring.

"It's all right. I think I've made my point," she said, looking pleased with herself.

Hermione moved out of the way so her mother could finish with breakfast. She was taken aback at the realization she had come to: she really _was_ starting to get over Charlie.

"Would you tell your father that breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes?" Elizabeth asked. After Hermione returned, she said, "When do you see Draco again?"

"We're having tea today," Hermione responded.

"I think you should tell him about last night," her mother said in her best motherly voice.

"I'll think about it," Hermione mumbled. For some reason, she didn't like the idea of telling Draco about Charlie. It felt too … intimate, too personal. There was no need to bring their private lives into their working relationship. What she did on her own time didn't concern him in the least, so long as she kept up her end of the agreement.

Satisfied, Hermione returned her attention to setting the table. She resolutely ignored the nagging voice in her head that was reminded her there was another reason she didn't want to tell Draco that had nothing whatsoever to do with business.

**ooo**

At promptly two in the afternoon, Hermione rang the bell at Malfoy Manor.

She had two reasons for calling on him this way instead of simply Flooing. First, she had dressed for the occasion, should anyone be lurking in the bushes beyond the Anti-Apparition wards, wearing a calf-length, blue-patterned cotton dress with simple flats. Her hair was down, held away from her face by a wide ribbon that was tied at the base of her neck. The more attention she could draw to their relationship, the better.

The second reason was because she needed to get used to being in Malfoy Manor, to possibly walking by the room where she'd been tortured. Though she had no intention of ever setting foot in that room again, there might come a time when she and Draco would be required to leave his bedroom, and she didn't want to make a scene.

She blushed at her thoughts and tried to make the heat in her cheeks go away. However, her heart started pounding at the idea of what she would soon be doing, adding to her flustered appearance.

When a surprised Draco answered the door after a few moments, he smiled when he saw her. "Hermione?"

At the sight of him, following her Freudian slip and the comparison she'd made earlier, all thoughts of the room flew from her mind "Hi, Draco," she said, her stomach twisting in knots from his dazzling smile.

"Come in," he said, holding the door open. "I had expected you to arrive in my closet."

Hermione chuckled. "You never know where reporters might show up. Thought I'd make an effort, just in case."

Draco seemed thoughtful; he didn't speak but looked at her strangely. Finally, he snapped out of it and his expression softened. "You look lovely, as usual."

She rolled her eyes, but the feeling inside her intensified.

"I mean it," he said.

"That is irrelevant. There's no need to say it when there's no one around to hear you," she argued.

"I beg to differ," he said, but didn't elaborate. "I'd like to have tea in the garden, if it's all right with you. We can walk around the house if you'd prefer."

Hermione nodded, touched by his consideration. "No, that won't be necessary. The garden sounds lovely."

"Excellent. I'll have Chippy take your bag upstairs."

"Don't you want to discuss our work during tea?" she asked, pulling her bag close as though it would help her get through the house.

"No," he said, "I would rather we not discuss business until we're finished. It's a lovely day; I don't want to mix such an odious chore with the meal."

"All right."

The elf was Summoned, instructed, and dismissed.

Draco tilted his head toward the back of the house, indicating that she should follow him. Hermione took a deep breath and fell into step beside him. She could see light at the end of the vast hallway, and she kept her eyes focused on it.

When they neared the drawing room, Draco slid his hand into hers, lightly threading their fingers. It was simple but exactly what she needed—someone to be there. They reached the back of the house that led outside to the grounds, and Draco opened the two large, French doors.

Hermione gasped.

An enormous, formal English garden stood before her. A wide walkway began at the base of the steps leading from the veranda. On either side, in symmetric harmony, well-trimmed hedges, topiaries, and manicured lawns extended far onto the property. The entire garden was enclosed on three sides by a tall, green wall. Beautiful trees, their leaves now shades of red and yellow, were strategically planted around the garden space. There were smaller walking paths, benches, and statues in the garden, and the back was opened to the rest of the Manor grounds.

"Do you like it?" Draco asked.

"Like it?" she breathed, still trying to take it all in. "It's … it's beautiful! Yes, I like it very much."

"My mother's work," he said, leading her down the steps and onto the grass just outside of the garden.

A white, intricately wrought iron table sat in the shade, looking like something from a film or postcard. Draco helped her into her seat, and she examined the spread on the table. Trays of delectable tea cakes, sandwiches, and scones sat amidst exquisite linens and china.

"This is too much," she said, giving him a questioning look. She had expected to have tea while sitting at the coffee table in the closet room, notes and papers spread around them.

Draco only shrugged and started filling his plate. "Mother will be pleased to know I used her garden for once."

"Not once she finds out _who_ you used it for," she remarked, still hesitant to touch anything.

"It's nothing, Hermione. Please. May I pour your water?" he asked. Draco didn't know why he had gone to the trouble of preparing such an elaborate tea. The only thought that made any sense was that he'd wanted to impress her, simple as that.

"All right," she said, handing him her cup.

Tea passed pleasantly, their conversation effortless. Hermione forgot all about her promise to consider telling Draco about the night before. The sun was almost set before Hermione remembered why she was even there.

"Oh, Draco!" she said, glancing around at the very long shadows in the garden. "How long have we been out here?"

"I'm not sure, and I don't care." He sighed. "I suppose we should get busy. Are you ready to work now?"

"Yes, I think we had better. We don't want to be at this all night."

**ooo**

Once in Draco's side room, they got right to work. Hermione sat on the sofa and placed the cards she had retrieved earlier in the week plus the information Draco had gotten from the bank on the coffee table.

He sat in the armchair beside the sofa. "Well, did you learn anything?"

Hermione folded her hands in her lap. "Not surprisingly, none of the names from the bank matched the names on your cards."

"I should hope that whoever this is has better sense than that," he quipped.

"Exactly," she agreed. "There were only three transactions that approached one hundred thousand Galleons each, and they were all deposits, all to one account in Paris, made almost seven years ago."

"That's … not good." Draco sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"It's a starting point, at least," she said. "The bank where you deposit the blackmail money is in Paris as well, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, his brow furrowed in thought. "Do you think the two are connected?"

"It's possible. I checked with the bank and that account has been inactive since the third deposit and a subsequent withdrawal was made."

"What are the dates of the deposits?" Draco asked.

"Well …." She paused. "If you'll recall, you only asked for the names of the depositors and the number of transactions over fifty thousand Galleons."

Draco cursed.

"However," Hermione said, "I … I knew we needed that information, that it was vital to what we're doing and could either rule out this particular instance or make it our primary interest. So I … I contacted Christophe Peronnet at la Banque française de la Magie and charged a few more hundred Galleons on your tab. I hope that's all right," she said, suddenly realizing that he might be angry with her.

Instead he grinned, entirely surprised. "You did? Well done, Granger. Though … weren't you against resorting to bribes?"

She avoided his gaze, trying not to let it bother her that he had used her surname. "I was, yes—I mean, I am—but as you'd already contacted this bank, I thought it would be all right to request a little more information."

"It's all right with me," he said gently. "It simply seems … uncharacteristic."

Hermione lifted her eyes to his. "I've been known to do what needs to be done in order to get results. I'm not always proud of it, but despite my protests earlier, I'm also not always above it." She turned back to her notes, eager to change the subject. "The precise dates were September 14, November 6, and December 30. Are those significant?"

"I'm not sure," he said, still grinning at the top of her head. Shaking his head, he searched through the blackmailer's letters. "I'm looking for the first three …. I made note of the date I received each one and when I made the deposits. Here they are." He pulled three slips of parchment out and opened them one by one. His expression became more excited with each note. "It looks as though this could mean something."

Draco had made deposits on September 10, November 1, and December 26.

Hermione smiled. "This is wonderful! It's quite possible the old account belonged to the blackmailer!"

"Whose name was on the account?" Draco asked.

"Let me see … Oh." Her face fell. "Jean Valjean."

"We've already established that the name would be falsified. All we've got to do is find out who this man really is."

"I'm not sure we've got much to go on," Hermione told him. "Jean Valjean is the name of the main character from a famous French novel, _Les Miserables_. I doubt it's even a real alias."

Draco frowned. "I'm not familiar with that book."

"I wonder if the choice of the name is significant," Hermione mused to herself. "I'll have to give it some more thought."

"I've been thinking," Draco said after a few minutes of quiet.

"Yeah?" she said, somewhat distracted.

"I've got to make another deposit next week."

"Oh, that's right," she said, turning to him. "I'd completely forgotten."

He stood and began pacing in front of the fireplace. Hermione watched as he frowned, deep in thought. "I have an idea about gaining information, but it would require your help."

"You have it," she said without hesitation.

"Thank you," Draco said, flashing another genuine smile. "In his early letters, the blackmailer specifically said that I was not allowed to stay in the bank, and if any magic was detected at all—Invisibility cloaks, Polyjuice, Disillusion Spells, anything—he would turn the evidence over. I tested him once on his word, and he threatened my mother, as you know."

He stopped and resumed his seat, facing her. "However, with your help, magic wouldn't be necessary. You could simply wait in the bank to see what happens."

"When would you make this deposit? I have classes, and I'm not sure if I can miss any."

"I know," he replied. "I'm willing to work around your schedule. The deposit must be made by the end of the day Tuesday."

"Do you think the blackmailer will come the same day? How would he know when you've put the money in your box?" she asked.

"Well, if we wait until the last day it's due, then that's the best chance we have of possibly spotting him in the act." Draco's expression was excited and intense.

"Which would mean Tuesday." She considered her schedule. "I could probably give the sixth-years an out-of-class assignment, which would free my afternoon."

"Yeah?" he said. "Are you sure that's all right?"

"I'm sure," she replied. "The bank will close early enough that I can make it back for the staff meeting."

"Excellent." He beamed. "Thank you, Hermione."

She smiled. "It's not a problem. That's why I'm here, anyway, isn't it? To help you? I think we should discuss some details though."

"Agreed," he said. "Shall we discuss them over dinner?"

"That sounds just fine," Hermione replied.

"You know," Draco drawled, a pleasant smirk—if such a thing was possible—on his face. "I could … cook."

At first, Hermione just blinked. Then his meaning sunk in and she blushed deep red. Draco laughed, and the butterflies returned to her stomach with a vengeance.

When he stopped enough that he could speak, he said, "Your reaction was perfect, Hermione. I couldn't help myself. That was brilliant." He chuckled again. "I did mean it though, and I specifically remember saying I would cook for you some time."

"That wasn't funny, Draco!" she said, unable to stop grinning.

He shook his head. "Again, I must disagree with you. So what do you say?"

"I would love to watch you cook, Draco," she replied. "If only to confirm that pigs do, indeed, fly."

He frowned. "I don't know your meaning."

Hermione stood. "It's a Muggle expression. 'When pigs fly' means 'it will never happen.' Because pigs will never fly."

"Well, they will if you Charm them to," he said, straight-faced, as he led her out of the closet and into the main part of the house.

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head.

The kitchen was on the lower floor of the Manor, in the back corner, and even though it was no where near the drawing room, Draco still held her hand until they were out of the main hallway.

It was clear that people didn't usually see the kitchen but also that Draco frequented it. After they entered, he went directly to the refrigerator and removed butter, cream, and a wedge of cheese. With a flick of his wand, Draco started two of the burners and Levitated two pots, one large and one small, from the rack over a long island onto the stove. Then he removed a half-used head of garlic and a handful of parsley from a cabinet.

Hermione watched, amazed at how easily he moved around the kitchen. She had assumed, wrongly again, that he wouldn't know the difference between an oven and a mixer.

"May I help?" she asked.

"If you want," he said, lopping a chunk of butter from the bar and setting it in the warm pan. "The cheese needs to be grated, but I usually set that to go on its own. Same with the parsley."

"I'll do the cheese," she said.

"Grater is in the third drawer to the right of the sink," he said, using a faucet over the stove to add water to the large pot. After tapping the pot with his wand, the water instantly started to boil. He added a half pound of fettuccine noodles, a dollop of oil, and a teaspoon of salt, and set a spoon to slowly stir.

Hermione retrieved the tool and found a bowl, then set to work. "I love freshly grated Parmesan cheese."

"As do I," Draco agreed. He removed a cookie sheet from a drawer and started slicing a fresh loaf of bread.

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Draco added heavy cream to the butter and combined the two liquids.

Hermione found it strange that she didn't feel out of place standing beside Draco, preparing a meal. Like everything with him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, and she wondered again how they could get along so well, despite there being nothing between them. She could easily admit that she found him irresistibly attractive, but she felt that their connection went far beyond that.

"Why are you doing it by hand?" Draco asked, startling her from her thoughts.

She shrugged. "Every week, when I go to my parents', I help my mum cook breakfast. I enjoy the process—it's a lot like Potions—and prefer doing things by hand. There's a stronger sense of satisfaction for me."

"Maybe I'll try it sometime. How's the cheese coming?"

"Just finished," she said, handing him the bowl.

He crushed a clove of garlic and tossed it into the bowl. Then he slowly added it to the liquid mixture, all the while stirring. When that step was complete, he whisked the mixture. "The parsley needs to be chopped, if you want. Otherwise, I'll set a knife to it."

"No, I'll do it." She removed a knife from a block on the counter, and with the same care she gave to her Potions work, began chopping the herb.

Draco chuckled. "You aren't getting a grade, you know."

"It's practice for when it counts," she returned lightly. "Here."

He added the parsley and turned off the heat to the burner. Then he Levitated a colander to the sink and carried the large pot over to it, straining the pasta. Hermione retrieved another, larger bowl, and Draco seamlessly added the drained pasta to it. Lastly, he added the sauce, stirring thoroughly to coat the noodles.

Draco Conjured two chairs and set them by the island. He set the table with a simple muttered spell and left, returning moments later with a bottle of wine. From the refrigerator, he retrieved an already prepared salad and placed it with the other food. When the oven timer dinged, he put the bread in a basket.

"Dinner is served," he said.

"Wonderful! It smells incredible."

Hermione shook her head incredulously as watched him poured them both a glass of a red wine that she expected would be both delicious and a perfect complement to the meal. It was.

"I must say, I'm impressed, Draco." She took a sip of wine. "It's hard to believe this is the only thing you know how to cook. The way you move in here is too natural, too effortless."

He tried not to look too pleased with himself. "I'll admit, I've tried other things, but I reckon I don't have the patience for it. Kind of like Potions." He smirked and sipped from his glass.

"This is delicious, Draco," Hermione said after taking the first bite. "Really."

"Thank you," Draco said. "So, tell me what you're working on in your free time these days. Other than what you're doing with me. Have you made any progress against the Cruciatus?"

"I thought we were going to discuss your plan for Tuesday over dinner," Hermione teased.

"I'd rather discuss this," he said simply.

She sighed and started telling him the basics; she had a theory, based on what happens to severely prolonged exposure. The Longbottoms had gone insane from the pain, so she suspected the curse primarily attacked the brain's pain center. If those connections were fried, other brain functions would suffer.

"I thought something just snapped," Draco said.

"All psychological reactions are rooted in physiology," she explained. "At least, that's what I'm basing my theories on. It's terribly boring."

"No, no, please. I'm very interested."

An hour later, the wine was almost gone and Draco was pulling a frozen cake that his house-elf had made from the freezer. Hermione helped him figure out how to heat it, and then they each had a slice.

Eventually, Draco decided they should return to the task at hand and come up with a plan for the next Tuesday.

As they walked in silence back to his rooms, Hermione felt a sense of belonging. It was the same feeling she had the first time she had been at the Burrow, and now she was feeling it with Draco. It was even stronger than what she had felt for Charlie initially, and she couldn't help but wonder, after the way Draco had behaved all day, if he didn't feel the same.

She glanced at him, only to find his brow furrowed.

They spent the next few hours devising and revising their plan for Draco's deposit. It was almost midnight when Hermione realized she was too tired to think. Fortunately, they were just going over the fine details. She yawned and Draco rubbed his eyes.

"I think it's a good plan," Hermione said, standing to gather her things. Somehow in the course of the day they had ended up all over his bedroom and closet.

"Me too," he said from his spot on the sofa, his back to her. "I'll be thinking about any modifications or improvements though, and you should too."

"Yeah, yeah," she agreed absently, her thoughts focused on sleep. It took a considerable effort not to even glance at Draco's large, soft, comfortable, and inviting bed.

Draco stood and walked to the fireplace. "Write to me if you think we should change anything, and I will too."

"Hey, I'm going to Harry and Ginny's tonight. I'm watching James tomorrow, and they wanted me there first thing." Hermione stood in the door between rooms.

"And … I'm assuming you're telling me this for a reason," he remarked.

"May I use your other fireplace? This one is only hooked to my room at Hogwarts, right?"

"Yes," he supplied, following her into his bedroom. "Of course. The Traveling Room is just inside the front door. Would you like me to walk you there?"

She swallowed. Draco had walked her past the drawing room twice now, but she needed to conquer it on her own. "No, no, I can find it. Thanks, though." Hermione put her cloak on and fastened it.

"Are you sure?" His tone and expression were laced with concern.

Hermione smiled bravely. "I am. I can do this. Gryffindor, remember?"

He nodded, still wary of letting her go alone. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Thank you. Well, goodnight, Draco."

"Night, Hermione," he said with a tired smile.

She fought the pull of the bed and left his bedroom. After standing at the top of the stairs for a few moments, taking deep, slow breaths, Hermione finally felt ready. She was confident that she could find her way through the Manor without incident and made her way to the first floor.

As she walked through the hall toward the grand staircase, she heard faint voices. One distinctly belonged to Chippy, and the other Hermione didn't recognize. It was a woman's voice—could it be Narcissa?

Hermione descended the stairs onto the main hallway and found the object of her query walking toward her, Chippy now gone. It was a woman, but certainly not Draco's mother. She had a cloak on, but it was open in front, and Hermione's eyes widened as she registered what the woman was wearing: lingerie. It was black and red and barely covered the essentials.

"Hello there," the woman said, looking Hermione over.

"Who are you?" she demanded, instantly disliking the woman.

"I'm Saturday Night, and you must be Miss Friday." Carrie smirked.

"Miss Friday?" Hermione repeated.

"I've gotta admit, I was extremely intrigued about you when Draco told me he wanted to switch nights." Carrie inspected Hermione more closely this time. "When he told me he was working Friday nights, I didn't believe him. Now that I see you, I really don't believe him. At least, he's not working on business, is he?"

"What do you …?" Hermione trailed off, realization dawning. This woman, dressed like a prostitute, was in reality a prostitute. One who saw Draco on a regular business, in his home, to conduct her … business. Hermione felt like someone had blindfolded her, spun her around a hundred times, and then set her loose.

Also, the woman had said that Draco had told her he was working Friday nights. That certainly wasn't the cover story, and Hermione wondered why he hadn't told his—mistress? lover?—that he had a girlfriend. Wasn't he worried about her reaction? What if this unsavory woman snitched to the first willing ear that she was sleeping with Draco while he was supposedly with Hermione?

Her head started to spin. "Don't you read the paper?" she asked, needing to determine just what this woman thought she knew. It wasn't possible that she didn't recognize her, hadn't read about her relationship with Draco—was it?

Carrie waved her hand in the air. "I don't pay any attention to that rubbish. I have much more important things to do with my time."

"No doubt," she replied coldly. Hermione still felt very uneasy about the whole thing, for numerous reasons. She might have to ask Draco about it, but the very thought made her nauseous.

"Why are you here, though?" Carrie asked, apparently enjoying Hermione's discomfort. "Saturday is my night."

"He's not paying me to sleep with him, if that's what you're implying," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "We're working together."

Carrie laughed softly. "Right. That story again. Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with my business, I couldn't care less who he sleeps with. Don't you find it interesting that he has a standing appointment with you, too? Of course, I would never claim to understand Draco Malfoy. He's quite the enigma."

"I don't like repeating myself," Hermione barked, anger beginning to cloud her judgment. "I am not sleeping with him." She didn't know why she was so upset. This was none of her business, anyway, but she couldn't help it.

"You're a little spitfire," Carrie mused. "Bet he loves that."

Hermione took very deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. It didn't work. "Listen here, you … you … witch! I am no common slag, and I don't appreciate you implying such a thing! If you know what's good for you, you'll back off and stay away from me."

"Is that so?" Carrie didn't seem in the least bit threatened. "What's your name? I need to know if I'm going to tremble at the sound of it," she said sarcastically.

"What's yours?" Hermione demanded, jutting her chin out like a spoiled brat. She didn't care.

The woman preened. "Carrie, love."

"Hermione Granger." She stood a little taller. "Perhaps you've heard it."

Carrie raised an eyebrow, her demeanor instantly altered. "As a matter of fact, I have heard it."

"Then you'll know not to mess with me," Hermione threatened.

"Maybe you aren't sleeping with him, after all," Carrie said, a different interest evident in her eyes.

"If I was, he wouldn't need you."

"Touché." The woman shrugged. "Even if you were, it's always possible he's not getting everything he needs. Men like Draco often want things from me that their wives or girlfriends can't or won't provide." Carrie smirked again. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just be going. He's waiting for me."

Hermione was seething so badly she was shaking. She merely nodded once and tried to walk away as calmly as possible. When she had rounded the corner she leaned against the wall, trying to get her emotions in check. What surprised her most was how upset she was, and she didn't even understand why!

Knowing the door was close, Hermione slowly resumed walking. Then she imagined Carrie practically running to Draco's room, throwing the door open and pouncing on him. It wouldn't take her long, and she obviously knew where she was going. Hermione started walking faster, wanting to be out of the house when Carrie reached her target. She simply couldn't abide the thought of what was about to happen.

"Potter residence!" she cried, tossing the Floo powder into the flames. With a shaky breath she stepped in.

**ooo**

Draco had his shirt, tie, socks, and shoes off when there was a knock at the door. A quick survey of the room assured him that Hermione hadn't forgotten anything. What could she want? A cautious smile played on his lips as he walked to the door.

As he opened it, he said, "Forget something?"

The smile froze when he saw that it wasn't Hermione on the other side.

"I might have left a pair of knickers here last week," Carrie said, sauntering into the room.

Draco closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. He wasn't ready for this right now! Hermione had just left, and he'd been thinking about her and their evening. In fact, he'd been about to go to bed.

Carrie was already setting the scene, lowering the lights, lighting candles, and putting on music. Draco watched disinterestedly.

"So I met Miss Friday," Carrie said casually, flicking her wand to pull down the sheets. "She seems … feisty. Bet she's a real handful."

Draco frowned. "What do you mean? Who …?" Something inside him lurched as comprehension dawned. The blood drained from his face and he thought he might be sick.

"On my way up," Carrie continued, not noticing Draco's reaction.

He went to his bed and sat heavily on the edge, his head a thick, useless mess. Carrie had met Hermione in the hall as she was leaving. A weight settled in his gut, and he felt awful. Not quite used to Carrie's new night, he hadn't even considered that Hermione was leaving about the time Carrie usually showed up. "What did you say to her?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and attempting to brace himself.

"I introduced myself, we made small talk."

"Does she … did she ask about the nature of your profession?" Draco couldn't even define why he felt so awful. He just did. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to know about his weekly trysts. How could he possibly face her again?

Carrie winked. "I'm pretty sure she figured it out. Smart girl, she is. Not how I pictured your type, though."

Draco whipped his head up to glare at the woman. "My _type_?"

She just laughed and leaned against his dresser, stretching her long legs. "So that's Hermione."

The weight in his stomach doubled at hearing Carrie say Hermione's name. "What do you mean?" Draco asked dangerously.

"I've heard of her," Carrie explained. "At least, I've heard her name. It's nice to put a face to the name."

Draco nodded listlessly. That made sense; Hermione was a well-known witch for all she did with Potter in the war.

"You care about her, don't you?" Carried asked, crossing the room and sitting beside him on the bed.

"Why do you say that?" he asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

"In the years since I started coming here, you've never called out a name in your … moment. Until recently."

If he had thought he couldn't feel any worse, any more embarrassed, any more ashamed, he had been wrong. That thing constricted inside him again. He couldn't even speak to ask her to elaborate.

"It's only been … once, maybe twice, maybe more." Carrie didn't bother to see if he wanted her to continue. "I don't keep track of these things. I'm not surprised you don't really recall doing it. Saying her name. Your brain doesn't exactly work on full capacity at the time."

"Why are you still talking?" he growled. "Can't you see I want you to shut up?"

Carrie looked at him pointedly, ignoring the scowl that would make most grown men shudder. "There are things a man should know about himself. That he cares about a woman, for example."

Draco tried to work up the energy to deny it, but there was no point. He did care about her, and now …. What would she think of him?

"Are you ashamed of me?" Carrie asked.

"I'm ashamed of myself," he said. "For letting this happen. She's …. Gah!" Draco buried his face in his hands.

Carrie crawled next to him and started rubbing his back, growing bolder with each stroke. When she reached his beltline, Draco stiffened. "Stop," he ordered.

She did. "What would you like me to do?" she purred.

"Leave." He hadn't known what he would answer, but after speaking, he realized that was exactly what he wanted her to do.

"Are you sure?" Her whisper was accompanied by a gentle nibble on his ear.

"Yes," he hissed, jerking away from her. "We're finished."

"But we haven't even started!" she pouted.

Draco stood, his fatigue forgotten. "We're finished, nonetheless. For good; I no longer have need of your services."

Carrie slunk off the bed toward him. "She insisted that she wasn't sleeping with you. If she's telling the truth, you'll need me."

Furious, he grabbed her wrist and held her at arm's length. "What is the matter with you?" he yelled. "Were you hoping to lose you job tonight? How dare you say such things to her!?" The more the woman said, the worse he felt. The thought of what had prompted Hermione to tell Carrie this … he really was going to be sick.

For the first time that night, Carrie finally looked frightened, unsure of herself. "Let go of me."

Draco released her, pushing her away from him. "You had no right to discuss with her my relationship with either of you. As far as I'm concerned, you broke our contract."

Her eyes widened; she knew it meant a great loss of money. "Draco, no! Please! I didn't mean anything by it, I was only joking!"

"Yeah? So when I see her again, and ask what you two talked about, she'll laugh it off as nothing?" When Carrie didn't respond, he scowled. "You took a vow of secrecy, and you broke it. That nullifies the contract and ends our association. I expect my settlement first thing Monday morning."

There were tears in her eyes when she looked at him again. "Please, Draco. I—I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I don't have all the money."

Merlin, he hated seeing a woman cry. He pinched his nose again and sighed. "Just explain one thing to me. Why did you push me tonight? Why did you deliberately say things to anger me?"

She hesitated for a moment. "You're more … aggressive when you're angry about something. I didn't realize you cared so much for her."

"I do," he said quietly, taking a deep breath. It felt better than he had imagined it would to admit he cared about Hermione. And the last thing she would want was for him to be mean and cruel to Carrie. "Just go. Don't ever come back here, you're barred from my property."

"Draco, let me have two weeks to get the money, I swear I'll get it," she pleaded.

"Forget the money. Just go. If you ever see Hermione Granger again, you will not look at her, speak to her, or acknowledge her. Do you hear me?" She nodded, grateful. "Good. Now go."

Carrie Summoned her possessions and stuffed them hastily in her bag. Within two minutes, she was out of his room and out of his life.

Draco slumped on his bed in a daze. He glanced at the fireplace in his closet, but remembered that Hermione had gone to the Potter's. That's why she had gone that direction in the first place and had occasion to bump into Carrie. He cringed at the thought of what they had discussed.

Truth be told, Draco was angry with himself for jeopardizing a possible future with Hermione, one that he hadn't even realized he wanted until that moment, when it became impossible. She would never look at him the same again, would never even entertain the prospect of something more. Exhausted, without even changing out of his trousers, Draco crawled under the covers and fell into a troubled sleep.

**ooo**

Hermione, on the other hand, was wide awake, staring at her ceiling and trying to figure out why she was so upset over Carrie. She had been trying to rationalize her anger, to explain it away in a logical fashion, but none of that had worked.

The truth was it made her jealous. More jealous than she had ever been in her life.

She had just realized she was finally getting over Charlie, had accepted her attraction to Draco, and had allowed herself to wonder if he might have feelings for her too.

Then she had been jarred back to reality, forced to see the truth for what it was, yet again. Draco was only acting. Nothing he said was true; none of his attention was real. For whatever reason, he insisted on treating her in private the same way he did in public: complimenting her, doing nice things for her … courting her—heavily. Hermione couldn't allow him half-truths, couldn't accept his words at face value when they were alone. He had to have a hidden agenda, and she determined to find out what it was. She would not give him access to her heart anymore.

That decided, she rolled onto her side and laughed at the ridiculous nature of her last thought. He already had his foot in the door, and she didn't know how to push him out without breaking her word to help him.

Hermione focused her attention on Carrie, but that only saddened her. Without even trying, she pictured Draco with her, touching her, kissing her. It was awful, and unbidden tears filled her eyes.

"This is so stupid!" she cried to the wall. "He's just using me! And I'm using him! We're using each other, and we agreed to it from the start! Who cares how many women he sleeps with?"

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get her head and her heart to work together. It hurt knowing that he could laugh and flirt and plot with her one minute, and then sleep with another woman the next. It was irrational; but then, most matters of the heart were irrational.

Inevitably, sleep overtook Hermione, and she was granted a dreamless night.

**ooo**

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading!! I really hope you liked this one. I've put up a poll with all of the guesses on the blackmailer, so head over and vote! It will be up for one week, and I'll announce the results with the next chapter. The lowest scoring choice will be removed before next week. If you want to have someone added to the list, just let me know in a review. I promise I won't remove the actual blackmailer. :)

**Credits:** This week's awesome illustration was done by pink_martini2 of LiveJournal. Check it out! Playlist, as always, by inadaze22. Beta thanks go to drcjsnider & pokeystar, with special thanks to inadaze22 and manda for last minute reads and help with my SNAG.

**BONUS!! **The incredible talented Breenieweenie has made a TRAILER for this story!! I absolutely LOVE IT. It's amazing, beautiful, and just SO WELL DONE. I've put a link to it in my profile, which you can visit after you've voted.

**Dear Solal:** If I've messed up any of the French, would you please let me know ASAP? Thanks!!


	14. The Beauty of the Rain

**NOTE:** I had a question about the rating of this story, and I think now is a good time to bring it up. I rated it "M" to be on the safe side, but I think a better rating would be "light R." There's nothing explicit in this story, but there are themes that I think aren't quite appropriate for younger people, so I couldn't rate it PG-13 or the equivalent. So, there you have it!

**POLL:** Results from last week are up! I've combined the results from the poll at FF and at LiveJournal, and I'll be removing Milicent Bulstrode and Crabbe Sr. from the list. I'm going to post a new poll every week until the identity of the blackmailer is revealed. So far, **Caleb** is the top suspect. Hmm! Thanks to the 102 people who voted! WOW! I hope you'll keep voting! I don't think this week's chapter will give any insight into the blackmailer, but the poll will be there nonetheless. :)

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 14 - - The Beauty of the Rain**

**- - -**

_She says you've known her deepest fears. 'Cause she's shown you a box of stained-glass tears. It can't be all The truth about the rain.  
~ Dar Williams, _"_The Beauty of the Rain_"

**- - -**

Draco didn't feel any better about the situation in the morning. He forced himself through his routine, and by eight-thirty, he was in his home office with a cup of coffee, ready to start working. He had spent a great deal of time the day before with Hermione, and every moment that he wasn't working, he felt he was losing money.

The time with her always seemed worth it though, and not just because they were working together to identify the blackmailer and put an end to the unpleasant business. She was a breath of fresh air in his stale world.

Nevertheless, he had a lot of catching up to do.

At half-past two, he hadn't moved from his chair. He was bent over the latest proposal, trying to find any shortcuts he could take that would save him money but not reduce quality.

A sharp rap on the door made him jump.

Scowling, he went to answer it. His expression didn't change when he saw who had disturbed him. "What do you want, Pansy?" For some reason, perhaps on a command given by Narcissa, the house-elves let Pansy in without announcing her. He made a note to rectify this.

She raised an eyebrow. No matter how cross he was with her, she never let it faze her.

"Three things. First, your house-elf tells me you haven't eaten all day. So a meal is in order. Two, I want you to take a walk with me outside. It's a beautiful autumn day, and you're cooped up in this dreary study of yours. Three … there's something I think you should see."

Draco rolled his eyes but knew that he would get no peace until he complied. He grabbed a light cloak, and together they walked to the back of the house and into the garden. Draco felt his tense muscles relax. The wind was cool and crisp and smelled like fallen leaves.

They walked around the entire garden in silence before Draco felt ready to talk. "You're right. I needed a break."

Pansy linked her arm through his and smiled. "Good. Chippy will have a meal ready for you when we return. I can't stay, but you must eat, Draco."

"What did you want me to see?" he asked.

Pansy's expression was apprehensive. "Let's sit." She pulled him to a bench, removed something from inside her robes, and handed it to him. "Just remember, don't hex the messenger."

Draco frowned and accepted the item, unrolling it to reveal the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_. The entire front cover was a picture of Hermione and Charlie Weasley at a formal occasion, sitting together and smiling. The headline read, "What's this? A new man for Miss Granger? details on pages 5-13."

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Pansy looked positively ready to leap out of her skin from holding her tongue.

Draco kept his expression impassive as he opened the rag. Inside were more pictures of them in various poses and a lengthy article.

Finally, Pansy could keep quiet no longer. "Did you know? Are you two split? Remember what I said, I will severely maim her if she hurt you."

"No," he said slowly, staring at Hermione's smiling face. "We're not split." Draco closed the magazine, worried that he would betray his emotions if he looked at it any longer. "She told me she was going." It wasn't entirely a lie; she had told him something had come up. However, she had left out any and all details about that something, and he was starting to wish he'd asked a question or two.

Pansy's jaw dropped. "You _knew_?"

"She's a grown woman, Pansy. We've only been dating a few weeks, and she has a life outside of me." From the pictures, it looked like she had a relationship apart from him as well.

She snatched the magazine and hastily flipped to one of the pages. "Look at this picture. Look at her expression. Does she ever look at you that way?"

Draco had no choice but to examine the photo Pansy had thrust in his face. Hermione appeared … blissful. There was no other word for it. Completely happy. Though he had seen some marvelous smiles on her pretty face, none of them quite approached the one she was giving Charlie.

"Nothing to say?" Pansy said with a smirk. "I can't believe you let her go anywhere with him! According to this article, they were quite the item a few years ago. Looks to me like nothing's really changed."

That hurt, more than he cared to acknowledge. Now he wanted Pansy to leave, and quickly, before his control cracked. "I'm hardly in a position to forbid Hermione from doing anything. It's Granger, Pansy. She'd listen to my demands just as much as she would torture a house-elf. Besides, I trust her."

"You trust her? How can you say that?! She went out with another man while dating you!" she exclaimed, waving the magazine in his face once more.

Draco grabbed it and tucked it into a pocket. "Yes, I trust her. If you'll recall, she has been friends with the Weasley family for most of her life. I'm sure there's a perfectly good, rational explanation for what's printed in that glorified gossip column."

Pansy patted his arm and gave him a sympathetic look. "Draco, I know what it's like to care for someone more than he cares for me. You deserve better than that. I just don't want to see you hurt."

He scowled and started walking back toward the Manor, uttering a terrific lie. "Don't worry about me; I assure you my feelings for her are in check. I like her no more or less than I should. And now that you've accomplished two of your aims, I must see to the third."

She caught up with him quickly. "I hope you're not upset with me, Draco. I thought it would be best for you to hear about this now, from me, rather than someone at work or from a stranger on the street."

He sighed and slowed his pace so she wouldn't have to run to keep up. "Yes, thank you. You're right. But I assure you, I have nothing to worry about. I appreciate your concern, you're a good friend."

Pansy wasn't buying it, but he wasn't about to tell her the truth. He was almost shaking now from holding in his anger, and he wanted her long gone before it exploded.

"Just remember. She's mine if she hurts you," Pansy said, fastening her cloak around her neck.

He tried to force a carefree smile. "That's won't be necessary."

She kissed his cheek and left him standing in the garden, a few feet from where he had taken tea with Hermione the day before.

He stared at the white iron table and sank into a chair. Was it possible only twenty-four hours had passed? So much had happened in that time. The day before, Draco hadn't wanted their time together to end. That's why he didn't talk about their work over tea or dinner, why he had offered to cook instead of having Chippy bring them something. Everything in his life seemed brighter when Hermione was around, and he greedily wanted her there more and more.

In the last day, he had realized he wanted something with Hermione just moments after losing that chance altogether. Then he learned that she once had a relationship with Charlie Weasley and that she'd gone with him to some kind of awards dinner.

Draco was mad at himself for allowing feelings to develop for her and then for realizing them too late. He'd known something was happening when he had to fight a smile every time he thought about her and when his heart raced at the sight of her. It had just been so much easier to ignore it, to push it away, than to think about it.

However, he couldn't ignore his growing anger and knew it was rooted in jealousy. It was hardly rational, especially when he was just as guilty of having a bit on the side, but knowing didn't ease his discomfort.

Well-versed in feeling sorry for himself, Draco forced himself to get up. He had a to-do list that wasn't getting any shorter, and the more time he spent wallowing, the later he'd be awake. Besides, he was a fool to try to reason with his heart, to want to find a logical explanation for how he felt.

**ooo**

Hermione was exhausted by the time lunch ended on Monday. She had spent the day before in her room, forcing herself to catch up on the reading she'd been putting off. She recited Arithmantic tables in order to keep her thoughts from straying and running wild.

She hadn't been able to sleep easy the last two nights, either, so she had taken a Sleeping Potion. It was a last resort, and the things never agreed with her. They left her groggy the next day until she could catch a nap, and Mondays were full, non-stop classes all morning.

One hour remained before her last class of the day—her seventh-years—and she practically ran to her rooms in anticipation of getting some sleep.

Hermione felt much better when she took her desk ten minutes before the bell was set to ring announcing the beginning of the period.

She looked up when Samaya entered and frowned at the girl's expression. "Afternoon, Samaya. Did you have a good weekend?"

The girl looked contemplatively at Hermione. "It was fine. So, Professor, speaking of weekends …. Are you cheating on my father's cousin's brother's great nephew?"

Hermione knew she could only be referring to Draco. "Of course not," she said. "Why on earth would you ask such a thing?"

"Oh, just this."

As was her wont, Samaya placed a copy of _Witch Weekly_ on the desk. Hermione's eyes widened as she stared at the picture on the cover. Then she read the headline.

"What?" she cried, grabbing the magazine and turning to page five. She was horrified to discover pages and pages of pictures, but the worst thing was the article, written by Rita Skeeter.

_A new love? Or a recycled one?_

_Miss Granger seems to be making up for lost time with her most recent string of beaus. First, the very eligible but often reclusive Draco Malfoy, now a former love rekindled in Charlie Weasley. Mr. Weasley recently won a highly prestigious award in Dragon Keeping circles, and Miss Granger attended the awards ceremony __as his guest._

_The two were nearly inseparable all night, and were quite cozy at their table. Indeed, the pair couldn't keep their hands off each other. If she wasn't holding his hand, he was whispering in her ear or twirling his finger in her hair._

"He did no such thing!" Hermione exclaimed.

"What, the hair bit?" Samaya asked. She had moved behind Hermione to read over her shoulder.

"Yes, the hair bit," Hermione answered, annoyed.

_When Mr. Weasley stood up to give his acceptance speech, the air between the two crackled with electricity and __sexual tension. While she gazed adoringly at her lover, he surreptitiously credited her as being his inspiration, and this reporter has no doubt that her 'passions' were not limited to defense of magical creatures (Full speech printed on page 9). _

Hermione shut her eyes, trying to keep her breathing even. She was so angry at Rita that she contemplated going right then to her house and hexing her into oblivion.

_The attraction between the pair was evident to anyone whose gaze fell on them over the course of the evening. Mr. Weasley's boss, Mr. Russell Fields, said that he had long hoped his employee would reconcile with the feisty witch, as __'Charlie was happiest while dating her.' It looks like Fields got his wish!_

_The question then begs: what of Mr. Malfoy? Just two weeks ago, he appeared quite enamored with Miss Granger, being spotted holding hands with her in Diagon Alley, his eyes fixed on the object of his affections. _

_So what happened? Is she unabashedly fickle or was Miss Granger simply toying with Mr. Malfoy's affections, while her heart remained loyal to her former lover? If you're reading this, Mr. Malfoy, please accept my personal condolences. This is not the first time Miss Granger has wooed important men in order to serve her own purposes._

_Finally, the single witches of England are wondering one thing: Is Mr. Malfoy ready for love again? And where do we sign up? _

_Until next time, eternally yours,_

_Rita_

Hermione had tears in her eyes when she finished. Draco! What if he had seen this? What did he think had happened—what did he think of her? Merlin, she hadn't even considered that someone would twist that evening so vilely! Leave it to Rita, she thought bitterly. If there hadn't been some truth to the article, even in undertones, she wouldn't feel so ashamed.

All those pictures! She had thought they were merely interested in her, but then when Charlie had been announced the recipient of the award, it made sense why so many people were snapping pictures of them—they wanted _him_. Well, except for Rita, anyway.

"Are you all right?" Samaya asked.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, her voice calm but strained. She had to see Draco, she had to explain. As soon as possible, she would go to the Manor and wait for him to return home. He couldn't be allowed to think that she was in love with Charlie! She wasn't! Finally, after so many years of holding on to memories, she wasn't in love with Charlie. She needed Draco to know that, to believe her. She needed someone to hear the words

By that time, all the seats were taken and Hermione had to start class. Every word she spoke felt like ash in her mouth, every smile felt forced, and she glanced at the clock more times than she could count.

When the double period finally ended, Hermione was about to grab her things, run to her room and Floo to Draco's closet, when Sheetal stopped her.

"I was hoping to have a word with you, Professor," she said shyly.

Hermione's mind screamed at her to go, to leave, to get to Draco's, even though he wouldn't be there for a few hours, at the earliest.

"Of course, Sheetal," Hermione said, using her wand to shut and lock the door. "What's on your mind?"

"It's … well, it's Evan, actually."

Hermione blinked. She had been so preoccupied with her own life that she'd forgotten that the Hogsmeade trip was this weekend, and the last she had heard, Evan was going to ask Sheetal to go with him.

"Evan?" she repeated, settling into her chair. "Is there something wrong?"

"Oh, no," Sheetal assured her, shaking her head. "Nothing's wrong. Our project is going very well."

"I see." Hermione had learned that sometimes it was best not to ask too many questions and to let her students struggle through the answers.

Sheetal fidgeted with a corner of parchment sticking out of her book. "He … he asked me to go with him to Hogsmeade this weekend."

Hermione feigned surprised. "He did? That's …. Wow."

Sheetal nodded vigorously. "I know. I was shocked." She paused, pink creeping onto her cheeks. "I don't really know what to say."

"You haven't given him an answer yet?" Hermione asked, her heart panging for Evan.

"No, I told him I would think about it."

"And what have you thought?" Hermione was rather anxious to hear if Sheetal was interested in Evan.

The Slytherin girl sighed. "The thing is … I do like him. He's funny and smart, and very fanciable. All the girls fawn over him." She frowned, shaking her head. "It's just so much pressure. We would be the first inter-house couple that spanned our two houses, and even though I know it's okay, I also know there are those in my house who wouldn't be happy with it."

Hermione scoffed. "You should never let someone else dictate your actions. That gives them too much power! It's just the kind of thing that leads to prejudice, and then before you know it, we've got another Dark Lord trying to take over the world. If you like Evan, and you want to spend more time with him, then you should."

"What would you have done, if our situations were reversed?" Sheetal asked. "If someone from Slytherin had asked you out in school."

"That never would have happened," she replied. "I'm Muggle-born."

"Can't you imagine it, even for a moment?" Sheetal pressed. "Out of the blue, you're asked to Hogsmeade by a Slytherin bloke."

Hermione snorted. "I would have thought he was up to no good, and hexed him." Sheetel looked frustrated. "I'm sorry, I'm not helping."

"What about Draco Malfoy? What if he had shown genuine interest in you during school? Would you have gone out with him?"

An image of Draco in their sixth year flashed in Hermione's mind. He was sneering, looking down his pale, pointy nose at her with revulsion in his eyes. Then the image changed into an older Draco, his lips curved up in a smile, his eyes intense as they bored into hers.

All that was now required was to imagine that during school, Draco had acted toward her the way he did now, when they were pretending. There was no question.

"If Draco had treated me then the way he does now, absolutely, I would have gone out with him," Hermione said firmly.

"Really?" Sheetal's eyes widened. "Just like that? What about you friends, your houses?"

"I'm a very … contrary woman, Sheetal. I wasn't raised with wizarding prejudices, so they never took hold. I disliked Draco and his friends because they were arrogant, nasty prats, not because of their house and blood. But if I wanted something badly enough, if I knew that it was right for me, then nothing anyone could have said or done would have kept me from it." She shrugged. "That's just who I am."

"What if the other Slytherins treated you badly?" Sheetal asked.

"I would like to think Draco would have intervened on my behalf." Sheetal started to speak, and Hermione anticipated her question. "As for my friends, they would have been angry, furious even, but they would have seen, as I do—did!—I don't know, this is all confusing!"

Together they laughed before Hermione continued. "They would have seen how happy I was, that he treated me the way I deserved, and they would have accepted it. Eventually."

"I don't think I'm as brave as you are, Professor," Sheetal admitted. "But I also know that if any of my housemates give me trouble, you'll give it back to them, ten-fold."

Hermione smiled. "That's correct. So you're going to say yes?"

"I … I think so. I want to."

"Then say yes. You'll be out of here soon, and you'll realize how silly the house divisions are. When you meet someone, your first question won't be, 'which house were you in?'" Hermione gave Sheetal's hand a reassuring pat.

"You're right," the student said. "It's just one date, anyway. Who knows what will happen?"

"Exactly," said Hermione.

"Thank you, Professor," Sheetal said.

"You're very welcome," she replied.

When Sheetal had gone, Hermione was no longer in a frantic rush to get to Draco's. She went to her room, had a cup of tea, and at quarter to five, Floo'd to his room.

Not surprisingly, he wasn't there. She felt marginally better and worse being in his home, though, and tried to settle her nerves enough to go over their plan for the next day.

She couldn't concentrate. Waiting for Draco to come home was difficult; she started imagining their conversations, what he would say, how she might react.

It took over an hour and three cups of tea generously provided by Chippy before she could force herself to focus on something other than what she would say to Draco when she saw him.

She managed to finish going over their notes about the money drop, and then found a book on the shelf and lay on the sofa to read. Before she knew it, her stomach was growling, and she looked up to find that the sun had set. Hermione called for Chippy and requested something to eat, and the elf happily obliged.

Hermione ate worriedly. Where was Draco? Why wasn't he home yet? What if he was so angry at her that he had … what? Why would he be angry in the first place? They weren't even really dating!

**ooo**

Draco returned to the Manor at half-past ten. After his usual workday ended, he spent time going over the books and preparing his deposit for the next day. When that was completed, he simply didn't want to go home. He was beginning to associate Hermione with the Manor, and he couldn't think about her without feeling a strange mixture of emotions.

His initial anger had dissipated somewhat after having time to think about everything that had happened. It was hardly fair for him to be upset that Hermione had gone somewhere with Charlie while he was regularly seeing Carrie. The thought that Hermione might be seeing Weasley still managed to make his blood boil, and he told himself it was only because she had said in the beginning that she wasn't dating anyone.

He slowly walked toward his room, his steps heavy. He wasn't sure what he would do or say when he saw Hermione again, but he did want to talk to her. What she had done, though probably unintentionally, had jeopardized their work and what they were planning to do. She needed to understand this.

More than anything, though, he felt strangely compelled to explain about Carrie. He didn't know what he would say, but he needed to know that she didn't think he was pathetic, disgusting, or loathsome.

When he reached his bedroom, Draco was surprised to see a lamp on in the closet-room. He didn't turn on the lights but instead pulled his wand and crept toward the opening between the rooms.

He sucked in a breath at the sight of Hermione, fast asleep on his sofa with a book open across her chest and her hair splayed out over a pillow. His heart ached; Merlin, she was beautiful.

After sheathing his wand, Draco poured himself a glass of bourbon and took the chair by her feet. He watched the slight rise and fall of her body that accompanied her breathing for a few long moments.

"Hermione," he called gently.

She stirred, her eyes opening gradually. She seemed confused for a moment as she took in her surroundings, and then her gaze fell on him. Hermione sat up straight and the book fell to the floor with a thud.

"Draco!" She quickly grabbed the book and smoothed the pages that had gotten bent. "I-I'm sorry I didn't write or anything, and I shouldn't have just fallen asleep like this."

"It's quite all right," he said, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm glad you're here, actually," he replied hesitantly, stealing a glance at her from beneath his fringe. Might as well get it over with. "There's something I want to discuss with you."

Here it comes, she thought. The pictures in _Witch Weekly_ … surely he had seen them, had read the accompanying article! "All right," she said, resigned to the unpleasant but necessary conversation.

He stood and started pacing, a deep frown on his face. "It's about what happened Saturday night."

That took Hermione completely off guard; she'd gone out with Charlie on Friday night. "Saturday?" she repeated.

"It is my understanding that as you were leaving my house, headed toward the Traveling Room, you … met someone."

Oh! Hermione's cheeks reddened and she directed her gaze into her lap. The woman who had thought Hermione was sleeping with Draco on Friday nights, who had been dressed in revealing lingerie, who hadn't bothered to cover herself when she'd met someone unfamiliar. Though she had considered bringing up the audacious woman, it was the last thing Hermione had expected Draco to mention.

"I would like to explain," Draco said stiffly.

"No!" Hermione cried, eyes wide. She'd endured more than enough mental images over the last few days, and she didn't need more information that would only help her imagination elaborate.

He looked at her, his expression torn and confused.

"I mean," Hermione said, gesturing tensely with her hands. "What's there to explain? I understand perfectly."

This wasn't going how he had expected it to. He had expected her to be upset. "But—"

Usually when Hermione was anxious, she didn't talk much. But when she was very, very nervous, she tended to ramble. "I get it, Draco. She … she … well, you know. It's perfectly understandable, you're a man, and you … well. What you do with your private time is none of my business. It's not as if you're the only one, anyway, I—"

"You what?" he asked, his eyes narrowed and his tone harsher than he had intended.

Her eyes darted to his and she realized what she had said. "I … nothing."

Draco had been blessed and cursed with a vivid imagination. He credited it as being partly responsible for his failure to be an adequate Death Eater, for he could imagine the pain and suffering he would cause all too well. Apparently, he was also extremely sensitive—something he had always seen as a weakness—because he couldn't bring himself to be the cause of such pain and suffering.

His imagination was now running rampant, conjuring up the images of Hermione and Charlie Weasley in _Witch Weekly_ and taking them a few steps further. The looks they'd exchanged, the innocent touches … it all pointed in one direction. She had been about to confess something, and what else could it be?

"This is about Friday night, isn't it?" he asked, his voice calm, though tinged with the anger that bubbled just beneath the surface.

"You've seen it, then?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "The magazine?"

Draco's anger from the day before inexplicably resurfaced. As he glared at Hermione, trying to formulate the most hurtful, spiteful response he could, it struck him to consider _why_ he was so angry at that moment. He wasn't actually dating her, yet his reaction could only be described as jealousy, rearing its ugly head once again. The thought of her being with another man made his blood boil.

"Yes," he snapped.

Hermione felt terrible for a moment, feeling the deep sting of regret at having betrayed someone she cared about. But then, after considering their entire conversation, anger coursed through her veins.

"Oh, so it's all right for you, but not me?" she countered.

Draco's eyes widened in shock at her rebuttal and the fact that she wasn't denying his worst imaginings. Pushed into a corner, he had no choice but to fight back any way he could. "The two are entirely different," he snarled. "What I do in the privacy of my own home will never reach beyond the walls of my house! _You_ were plastered over nine pages of that bloody rag, making … googly eyes to another man, when you are supposed to be with me!"

"Charlie is my friend!" she shouted, leaping off the sofa. "He needed a date for something and he asked me! I had no idea it was an awards banquet in honor of him and that there would be so many reporters there. That's why I was there, you enormous git!"

They were … friends? And yet, she hadn't denied sleeping with him? Draco's pedestalic image of Hermione imploded. Perhaps it had been foolish of him to assume the things about her he had assumed—that she wouldn't approve of what he did with Carrie, that she would never do such a thing herself … that she was anything other than perfectly human, just like he was.

The realization required extensive thought, but he wasn't at such a liberty at that moment.

"You are with _me_," he said through gritted teeth.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat at Draco's statement, despite how livid they were, despite being in the midst of a tremendous argument. It almost sounded like real anger and jealousy, as though he was this upset at the knowledge that she had gone out with another man.

"Did you read the article?" he continued, retrieving the now-worn magazine from his robes and waving it around. "Read what they wrote about you? About us? What you did put into jeopardy everything I have been trying to accomplish."

Of course. How foolish of her to have thought he truly cared about her—again. When would she learn? "No," she argued, crossing the room and snatching the rag, then poking him forcefully in the chest with it. "All the article did was speculate. A lot."

"Exactly," he said. "Our relationship has been called into question, and that greatly displeases me. The idea of us dating, by the way, was only for your protection. I'm certainly not getting anything out of it. But if you want to ruin it by sleeping with every friend in need, then who am I to stop you?"

Hermione didn't think, didn't consider what she was doing or the repercussions of her actions. All she saw was red. Before she could stop herself, she slapped him. Hard. His face jerked to one side and the sound of her palm hitting his cheek seemed to reverberate around the room and against the walls of her skull.

When she finally did stop to think, she didn't completely regret her actions. "You complete and utter wanker! I didn't sleep with Charlie!"

Draco slowly turned his head back to look at her, refusing to give in to the desire to touch his throbbing cheek. Her eyes were flashing and her chest was heaving; she was livid.

"You said—" he started quietly.

"I know what I said," she snapped. "I didn't sleep with him Friday night." Then she remembered how very close she had come to doing just that, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over her. "Oh, Draco, I'm sorry I hit you."

He backed away, glaring menacingly at her.

"It's complicated," she offered, her anger disappearing at the thought of trying to explain her relationship with Charlie to him but knowing she would try.

"You told me you weren't dating anyone," he said, anger once again lacing his words. "When all of this started, when I came to you in McGonagall's office. I had a very good reason for asking that question."

"I wasn't," she assured him, stepping closer by half a step but stopping when he echoed her movement, moving away.

Images flashed into Draco's mind of the first game of Quidditch he had attended with the Weasleys. Hermione and Charlie had been nearly inseparable, speaking closely, familiarly, touching each other the way secret lovers might do when they thought no one was watching.

He had been inexplicably annoyed by it at the time, and now his imagination had facts to add to his thoughts. Charlie Weasley _had_ been with her. Draco couldn't deny that once again, jealousy was the root of his anger. He wanted to ignore the pain, as well, but too much had hit him all at once. She and the older Weasley had been together … but when? For how long? Why did they end things, if they so obviously still wanted each other?

Pansy had been right—the pictures in the magazine were quite telling.

"And now?" he demanded.

"It's complicated," she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

"It's none of my business," he said coldly. "Decide now what you want. You gave your word to help me, which you will fulfill. But we can end this sham of a relationship so that you can be with your Weasley again if you wish."

Tears filled her eyes before she turned away, and for an instant, Draco felt bad. But it didn't last. It made him sick to think that she had been pursuing another while being in a public relationship with him. It reminded him too much of the blackmail material and the relationship his parents must have once had in order for it to be created. He hated the very idea of infidelity, and he no longer cared that it was all a farce; it still stung as though their relationship was real. Reluctantly, he admitted that it was because he was falling for her and he had wanted it to be real, welcomed it, before ….

"It's not so simple," she said.

"Yeah, you've mentioned that," he bit out, moving across the room to put distance between them.

Hermione took a deep breath, ready to tell Draco the whole truth, ready to accept his anger, even though it didn't make any sense. "Charlie and I were together for about a year. It ended two years ago."

Draco was so caught up in being livid with her that he couldn't hide his surprise. The way they had acted together in those pictures didn't correlate to a long-over relationship.

She sat on the sofa, her hands shaking. "After Ron and I broke up, I met Charlie at a function in Romania. I'd been sent there by the research group I was with to attend a conference, and Charlie was staying in the same hotel for another meeting. We hit it off really well."

Draco hated the pain in her voice. It either meant that Charlie Weasley deserved to have the crap beat out of him or that Hermione was still in love with him. The former Draco would have been happy to oblige, but he suspected the latter. It hurt … Merlin, it hurt him more than anything had ever hurt in his life. The one woman that he had opened up to, had shared parts of his life with—however small they might be—had wanted to be with and not just for one night, loved another man. He walked to the window and stared out, numb, as she continued.

"We were hesitant at first, but then we couldn't ignore what was happening between us. It was … I've never felt so connected with another person in my life," she said, ignoring the doubt that had crept into her heart. Her statement had been true, once; until Draco, no one had come closer to her heart than Charlie. However, with Draco, she felt the seamless way they interacted, they way their thoughts seemed to merge, indistinguishable. There was undeniably a connection between them.

"Ron … didn't take it well, and that's putting it mildly. He made things almost impossible. To this day, I don't understand why, but he hated that Charlie and I got on so well when he and I didn't work out, even though _he_ had been the one to finally say, 'it's over.' Ron was angry, bitter, resentful, and vengeful, and he split the family, made it impossible to have a civil interaction with any of them. I couldn't go to Ginny, and I didn't want to put Harry in the middle. I had no one but Charlie, but even he was being torn in two. It couldn't work that way, and so we ended things."

_The man is an__ idiot_, Draco thought to himself.

Hermione took an unsteady breath. She had only told her parents about what had really happened with Charlie and the Weasleys. Even now, years after it had happened, it still hurt. She looked for Draco in the room and found him nearly hidden in shadows in one corner of the room. A bright beam of moonlight shone through the drapes, but he was tucked into the darkness. She could only see his hair and his face, softly lit by the silver light. His face seemed pained, and she couldn't understand why.

For some reason, however, when her eyes fell upon his tall, solitary, forlorn figure, the hurt seemed to ebb. Since Charlie, nothing had been able to ease the pain. Time had transformed it from sharp, radiating sensation to a dull but constant ache whenever she thought about it. Her first sign that something was changing had come when she had gone two weeks without thinking about Charlie once. She had been so scared that she made a concerted effort to remember her former lover. And up until Charlie had Floo'd her, requesting her presence, Hermione hadn't noticed that she didn't miss him. Was time simply pushing her forward, into the next phase? Or was the man across the room partly responsible, through no knowledge of his own?

She was silent for a long while, and Draco finally dragged his gaze to where she sat. He was surprised to find her watching him. He scowled and shifted his weight, returning to stare out the window.

"The thing is," she finally continued. "I have always thought that one day, he and I would …" She shook her head to herself, at a loss. "Would figure things out and be together again. Get married. Sometimes when we're together, we act as though nothing bad had happened. Harry and Ron don't understand, but they don't say anything. Charlie, he … he comforts me." Hermione swallowed hard. She had never admitted this, even to her parents. "When I need it. And he comes to me, too. It's not too frequent, but neither of us has ever turned the other away."

Draco clenched his jaw. There it was, the truth. She had been sleeping with Charlie with some regularity following the dissolution of their relationship. He hated how much it hurt, the way it made him feel. As though his entire sense of up and down, of balance and order, had been thrown out and he was left suspended, trying to figure out how to find his way forward.

"Until Friday," she said.

It was spoken so softly that he hadn't been sure he had heard her correctly. "What?" he croaked, his throat oddly dry.

"Charlie is my friend, Draco. But what you and I are doing is important. I couldn't risk messing it up. I knew he would eventually hear that you and I are together, and he wouldn't have understood why I had slept with him while I was with you. I don't cheat; I absolutely refuse to. So I told him about us, and it was better, in the long run, to refuse him."

"You told him. About us," Draco repeated.

"Yes. I had to," she said. "I had to explain why …."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, not wanting to hear the rest of her sentence. He was a fool to have thought there could be any hope for something more between them. She wanted another, but was refraining in order to help him. No, that wasn't entirely correct; she and Charlie had been officially over for a couple of years. At any point during that time, they could have reconciled, but hadn't. Still, it was obvious where her feelings lay.

"It is my sincere hope that we can bring this matter to a close as soon as possible," he said, still unable to meet her eyes, "so that we can both resume the lives we wish to live."

Hermione felt strangely elated. She wasn't sure if it was from finally releasing everything or something else. It felt as though she had taken an important step forward, though she didn't know where she was going. That didn't matter just then; it was important just to be moving.

"I'm sorry about Friday, Draco," Hermione said, standing from the sofa and turning around to look at him.

His expression was blank. "Why?"

"You were right; it put our work together in jeopardy. I won't be so careless in the future. I also think we should go out in public, maybe this weekend. Friday night, since I know you're free. Let people know, in no uncertain terms, that we are together."

"Okay," he responded listlessly. "If Saturday is better for you, that's fine with me. I won't be seeing Carrie anymore."

It was Hermione's turn to be surprised. "Really? I … why?"

_Because of you! _

Draco shrugged, feeling weary. He had been dressed in his work robes all day and felt a sudden longing to be rid of them, to rest his head on his pillow and sleep to forget Hermione and the hurt and confusion she caused. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.

"You don't have to do that," Hermione continued. "I know you're very discreet, and so long as I don't have to speak to her again, I can't possibly ask you to give that up—"

"It's done," he sighed, pulling his tie completely off and untucking his shirt. "It was my choice. Don't concern yourself with it."

Hermione bit her lip, suspiciously overjoyed that he wouldn't be sleeping with that woman anymore. Not that she had any right to be jealous, or any claim on him. Merlin, she'd just poured her heart out to him about Charlie! She had no right to want Draco for herself. And yet, as she watched him cross the room, remove his shoes and belt, further unbutton his shirt, reality hit her, and she fell back onto the sofa.

She wanted him. Of course, she had known that, but only somewhere deep, deep down, far away from the sphere of reality. The thought had now materialized in her mind, and she wanted to kick herself for everything she had said about Charlie. The last thing Draco would ever think was that she wanted him. But she couldn't tell Draco the truth, that she had feelings for him and no longer loved Charlie. At worst, he would laugh and tell her how foolish she was for falling for him. At best, he would shut her out, seeking her help only through the post, if he even still wanted it.

"I think we're through for tonight, don't you?" he asked, leaning in the doorway of the closet, shirt fully undone and hanging open.

Hermione silently cursed his undershirt. "Reckon so."

He nodded. "Everything still on for tomorrow?"

"Yes. I've got the afternoon off. Blaise is watching my classes."

"Good." Draco frowned. "We'll discuss our … date … at a later time."

"Okay." She didn't like the way he said 'date,' as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Night, Draco."

"Goodnight, Hermione." He didn't wait for her to leave and turned into his room.

Hermione stared at the fireplace before her, watching the flames dance and flicker. Had she, by freeing her own heart, turned his away—if it ever even had been in her favor? If not, surely now his was removed from her reach. Hot tears pricked her eyes and she spoke her destination shakily into the flames. She waited a few seconds before stepping through.

Draco watched discreetly as she stood there, and then he watched her go. Despite what he had learned, he was unable to deny his feelings for her, to push them away, to bury them. He had opened his heart a little and the damage was irreversible. His best defense now was to shield the open wound from further injury in the hopes that soon their association would end and he could be free to nurse his wounds alone.

**ooo**

**A/N:** Thanks as always for reading! A line in this chapter was inspired by "Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou?" Chapter title from a song by Dar Williams of the same name. Monstrous thanks to my betas, manda, pokeystar, & drcjsnider.

**Art Credits:** This chapter's fabulous art was created by marmalade fever. The playlist, as always, done by inadaze22. Thank you so much, guys!


	15. Winning You with Words

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Poll Update: **Caleb Matthews remains the top suspect in the blackmailing. I wonder if this chapter will change anything …. New poll up for your voting pleasure! Eliminated this week: Lisa Turpin & Marcus Flint.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 15**** - - Winning You with Words**

**- - -**

Hermione had a difficult time getting through the next morning. She went to breakfast but was jumpy the entire time. When Blaise brought up their Hogsmeade trip that weekend, she had to ask him what he was talking about.

The worst part was that her only morning class didn't start until ten, so she was left to her own devices for two hours. Normally, she wouldn't be so tense before a mission like this—there had been no time for tension during the war—but after her conversation with Draco the night before, she was reduced to a pile of nerves.

The one thought that continually bombarded her was that she was more than just attracted to him. She wanted something. She had told Sheetal that if Draco had treated her during school the way he did now, she would have gone out with him had he asked. What Hermione had finally admitted to herself was that if he asked her out now and not as part of their work together, she would say yes.

"That will never happen," she muttered to herself as she stared at a journal article she hadn't been reading. Frustrated, she closed the journal and made another cup of tea. A glance at the clock told her only half an hour remained until class, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Hermione collected her books and the graded assignments she had to return and started walking toward her classroom.

Harry caught up with her about halfway there.

"Hi, Harry," she said.

"Hey, Hermione." He smiled briefly, then his expression turned serious. "I tried to find you yesterday, but you'd disappeared."

"I went to Draco's," she said.

Harry frowned. "Yeah? So … the article in _Witch Weekly_ … You and Charlie?"

Hermione sighed and leaned against the railing of the staircase. "That article is rubbish. I went with Charlie as a favor. I can't believe you'd give any credence to what Rita Skeeter has to say."

"I didn't," Harry assured her. "It just made me wonder, is all. I heard Charlie's speech, saw the way he looked at you. It's none of my business; who you're with should make you happy. I thought you were happy with Malfoy."

"I am." She smiled. "Although I'm surprised that you're questioning me about this. I thought you'd be thrilled to hear I wasn't with Draco anymore."

Harry shook his head. "I want you to be happy, that's all. With Malfoy … I don't know, it's different. Being with him seems easy for you. That's great, that's exactly what it should be, for the most part. Sure, it'll require work for the relationship to really last, but so far … you're the happiest I've ever seen you. Maybe even happier than when you were with Charlie. That's what I want for you, Hermione."

"Oh, Harry," she said, wishing she didn't have her arms full so she could hug him. "I think you're absolutely right. I'm surprised every day how … right it feels with Draco."

"Ron want you happy, too. He was less than thrilled to see you with Charlie." Harry shook his head. "I never thought I'd see the day when he preferred Draco Malfoy to his own brother. Guess those jealous feelings haven't entirely disappeared.

"Was that his problem?" she asked.

"Yes. I finally got it out of him." He chuckled. "Ron can be quite stubborn too, you know."

"You certainly don't have to tell me." Hermione resumed her course.

"Oh, listen. Molly asked me to pass along an invitation to the Burrow Saturday night," Harry called after her.

"I'll be there," she promised.

"Malfoy's invited too," he added.

Hermione rushed to the railing to look down at Harry. "Really?"

"Yeah." The staircase was now moving him further away from her.

"Okay, I'll talk to him! Thanks, Harry!"

The class flew by, and Hermione's thoughts turned to the dinner invitation. Would Draco accept? It wouldn't do anything for their public reputation, but it would certainly go a long way toward keeping up the image that they were together for her friends. She hoped he would, in part so that Charlie could hear about it.

Hermione suspected that, even after her 'relationship' with Draco ended, her feelings for Charlie wouldn't return. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that yet. As he seemed to still care very much for her, she thought it would be good for him to get accustomed to her being with someone else.

After class, Hermione had a free period to get through before she could go to lunch with Ginny. She went to her room and double-checked everything she had put into her magic bag: cloak, sunglasses, various hats and hair ties, and a few Extendable Ears. Most importantly was the International Portkey Draco had set up for her. It was a small, pewter replica of the Eiffel Tower, appropriate for a trip to Paris.

Unable to sit still, Hermione left for Diagon Alley early. It would be better to walk off her surplus energy than drive herself crazy by sitting around.

The sun was bright despite the cool air, and the magical street was bustling with activity. Hermione walked the length of it, then checked her watch: ten until noon. Draco was going to make his deposit in precisely one hour, ten minutes before two, Paris time, and she needed to be in place before then. That would mean cutting her lunch with Ginny a bit short, but she knew her friend wouldn't mind.

Ginny was already at their table when Hermione arrived, sipping on a cup of tea.

"You're early," Hermione remarked.

"I had an appointment this morning and got out before I expected," Ginny explained.

"How's your week?" Hermione asked, after giving her order to the waiter.

"Good, tiring. James is getting into everything he can get his hands on." Ginny chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, hey, did Harry mention dinner?"

"He did," Hermione affirmed. "I haven't had a chance to talk to Draco yet, but I hope he'll be available."

Ginny smirked. "Whether he'll want to come is another matter, I take it."

Hermione couldn't help but smile. "I think he's come to terms with the fact that he has to interact with my friends eventually."

"Okay, now that's out of the way. Details, Hermione, don't leave any out," Ginny commanded in the same no-nonsense tone she had used the week before.

Thinking about sleeping with Draco was the last thing Hermione needed at that moment. "Not now, Ginny. I'm afraid I'm not in the mood."

"And I'm afraid I can't let you off this time," Ginny remarked. "Charlie is my brother, and you're my friend. I care about what happens to you, and if there's something going on, I should hope you would tell me about it! Besides, I'm sure Draco saw that … that dirty gossip rag. What did he have to say?"

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, relief flooding through her. "I'm sorry, Ginny, I thought you meant something else." Then she repeated the conversation she had shared earlier with Harry.

"You're sure you aren't still carrying a torch for Charlie?" Ginny asked, after she'd finished.

"Positive." Hermione tried to smile convincingly.

"I just want you to be sure. I think Charlie's still in love with you." Ginny took a sip from her water.

Hermione waited for the explosion of butterflies that she usually experienced when she allowed herself to think that Charlie really did still care for her. It didn't come.

"I think …." Hermione paused. Ginny knew most of her musings on the matter and what she was about to say would come as quite a shock. "I think I'm starting to finally get over Charlie."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Really?"

She nodded. "I'm almost certain. I never imagined this would happen, but it is."

"That's amazing!" Ginny beamed. "I'm just glad you're finally moving forward with your life, instead of half-waiting for my brother to stop being such a coward."

Hermione laughed.

Ginny raised her cup to drink. "I'd put money on the fact that a certain blond-haired wizard is at least partially responsible for getting your mind and heart away from Charlie."

Just then, Hermione's wand buzzed, telling her that she had five minutes before the Portkey would activate. "Oh no, Ginny! I've got to go." She stood, counted out her half of the bill and grabbed her purse.

"What? We've barely gotten started!" Ginny protested.

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise!" Hermione let herself out of the gate that surrounded the outdoor eating area and darted down the street. She felt terrible for her hasty retreat, but she didn't want Ginny asking any questions.

Hermione flitted down an alley, pulled the statue from her purse, and waited for the familiar pull at her navel. When the spinning stopped, she found herself in a dark alleyway. Draco had said she would be close to the bank, so Hermione donned her sunglasses and put on a hat and headed toward the street.

The bank, a BNP Paribas, was on the Place Saint Andre Des Artes, one block to her left. Hermione confidently walked toward it, her head held high. As she neared the steps leading up to the old building, a man with bright blond hair exited, glanced in her direction, and then walked away.

Her heart leapt; she knew it was Draco, just leaving after putting the money in his safety deposit box. Hermione then entered the bank and set about her task for the afternoon: watching for someone to request access to the same safe deposit box.

Draco had rented a high security box, the kind that required the bank manager's key to open. Hermione's biggest concern was remaining in the bank, undisturbed, for the entire afternoon. In general, customers didn't loiter in banks, and if she merely stood around, someone would get suspicious or, at the very least, attempt to speak with her.

Draco had considered this, however, and had a solution: she would open a new account at the bank. He had given her a wad of Muggle money for the initial deposit, large enough to warrant the attention of the manager, whom he knew from experience spoke rough English.

The account would take awhile to open, and Hermione would have the manager's attention. If anyone came to open a deposit box, she would know.

Opening the new account took about an hour, as Hermione and Draco had anticipated. The language barrier had been a slight hindrance, but the cash sped things along. So Hermione inquired about other bank services, and their explanations took another thirty minutes. When she couldn't legitimately keep the manager occupied any longer, she requested a safety deposit box. An assistant manager would help her with that, but she would still have access to the room and could therefore see anyone who entered.

The deposit box was rented and paid for a full year. Hermione thanked the woman who had helped her and checked her watch: four. The bank would close at quarter after five; she had an hour and fifteen minutes left.

She decided to inquire about a home loan, and sat filling out paperwork for another half an hour. A French-English dictionary was all she had with her, and it took her a long time to get through the words on the loan application. However, she took her seat right outside the manager's office. It was also beside a water cooler and snack machine, the offerings of which she partook about halfway through the form.

Hermione saw the bank manager go into the restroom. She quickly decided she needed to think about the loan and hurried into the women's room and quickly altered her appearance. She took her hair out of the tight bun, put on a pair of fake prescription glasses, pulled off the floor-length dress to reveal a skirt and tank top, and popped a piece of chewing gum in her mouth.

When she returned to the lobby, no one recognized her, and she stood in the long line of people waiting to be helped by the tellers. She kept one eye on the bank manager's office, and chewed her gum loudly, drawing annoyed looks from the other patrons.

By the time she reached the counter, only five minutes remained until closing. Then she suddenly remembered she'd forgotten her account number, and promised to return the next day.

Hermione left the bank, feeling quite pleased with herself for her success at being able to stay for so long, but also disappointed that nothing had happened. No one had come for the money. She wouldn't be able to come back the next day, and she knew Draco had a lot of work to do.

She returned to the alley and waited for the Portkey to activate once more, returning her to Hogsmeade. At precisely five-twenty-three, the Portkey whisked her away, dropping her safely in the "Arrivals" area at the end of the main road of the small magical town.

The elation accompanying her success had waned, and Hermione was left feeling despondent. She had been certain that they would learn something useful today. She shrugged to herself. There was no use fretting about it.

Hermione Apparated to the edge of the wards around Hogwarts and walked the rest of the way to the castle. Once inside, she went straight to her room to write a letter.

_Draco,_

_I've just returned from my reconnaissance mission, and it was unsuccessful. I was in the bank the entire afternoon, but not once was the manager approached about a safety deposit box. _

_I'll admit, I'm rather glum about it, but this wasn't our only plan. We'll figure something out._

_Hermione_

_P.S. We've been invited to the Burrow on Saturday for dinner. I await your response._

After a quick trip to the owlery, the letter was on its way. She took her time walking back, her thoughts turning to the brief moment she had seen Draco earlier that day. It had been reassuring and strengthening to see him after their intense disagreement the night before. Just knowing that he was still there, still going forward with the plan, and that he hadn't decided to cut her out of his life, had eased a few of her worries.

His expression had been blank when he had glanced at her, but his eyes were alight with anxiety. She might have been imagining it, transplanting her own reaction at his presence onto him, but she thought she saw him relax, just a little bit, when he caught sight of her.

**ooo**

Hermione received a letter the next morning between her fifth and seventh-year classes. It was from Draco. Knowing the room would begin filling up at any moment, she ripped into the envelope and opened the card.

_Hermione,_

_I went to the bank first thing this morning to check on the deposit. The money was gone. I do not doubt your story from yesterday. This simply means we have to figure out how the money gets from the box to its destination without traditional Muggle means. _

_I have a full day today and won't be home until very late. If anything strikes you, please don't hesitate to contact me. I can rearrange a few things tomorrow to free my evening, if necessary._

_Saturday at the Burrow is fine. We still need to discuss Friday night._

_Draco_

The letter was abrupt and void of even the little humor his last one had contained. That bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

When all of her students had taken their seats, Hermione forced a smile. "To begin today, I would like a brief update on your progress. Write out what you have done so far and how you plan to spend the rest of your time in order to achieve your goal. You have half an hour."

Most of the class looked slightly stricken, and Hermione suspected they had been letting the assignment slide.

While they worked, Hermione went over the previous afternoon again, looking for anything she missed. Without a Pensieve, it was really impossible for her to remember details about things she did not pay attention to. She would ask to borrow Minerva's Pensieve after lunch.

When the time was up, Hermione called for their parchments. Two of the groups seemed unfazed, but the third, the one with Corey, Damian, and Karalynn, appeared nervous.

"Now we will begin a discussion of the use of Arithmancy in Divination." Hermione stood and went to the board. "The author of your book has an opinion on the matter. Does anyone remember?"

Samaya raised her hand. When Hermione nodded to her, she said, "Something to the effect that, when used in conjunction, the two disciplines can yield powerful results."

"Do you agree?" she asked the entire class. After a few moments of silence, she smiled. "Don't everyone speak at once. Really, by this point in your studies, you should have an opinion. I know all of you have taken Divination, so … don't be afraid to disagree with the author. He's just one wizard."

Evan hesitantly put his hand up. "I think they can be used together, but I don't know about 'powerful results.'"

Hermione cheered internally. "Why do you say that, Evan?"

"If it was true, then wouldn't someone have already discovered it?" he ventured. "Learned how to use this … power?"

"That seems like a reasonable conclusion," she replied. "These disciplines have been in existence for centuries, and not much has changed in either one. Now, anyone else?"

The class flew by, and soon Hermione was heading to the Great Hall for lunch. It would be a hurried meal today, as she needed to use Minerva's Pensieve.

When she was back in her room after securing the use of the magical device for the day, she pulled the memory from the bank out of her head and sent it into the swirling grey liquid. With a deep breath, she touched the liquid's surface.

Hermione landed in the lobby of the bank. She followed herself through the path she'd taken the day before, but paid attention to everything around her. No one was free from suspicion: the other people in the bank, the employees, the security guard. Security ….

Quickly she scanned the corners of the rooms and smiled at what she saw: video cameras. She would be willing to wager that there were cameras in the safety deposit box room as well as behind the counters and in the back of the bank. If she could get those videos, then she might be able to see if someone, even magically, entered the bank and somehow opened the box.

Without waiting to watch the entire memory, Hermione exited the Pensieve. A glance at the clock showed that she had an hour and twenty minutes before her next class. That wasn't enough time to set up International transportation, get into the bank, somehow get the video, get back to England, and be ready for her class. However, if she already had a Portkey ready when class ended, she could easily get to the bank with plenty of time to spare.

Hermione went to her fireplace and put in a Floo-call to Draco's office.

His personal assistant answered. "Hello, Mr. Malfoy's office. Ah, Miss Granger," said Caleb with a pleasant smile.

"Hi, Caleb. Is Draco available?" she asked.

"He's in a call at the moment, would you like to hold?"

"Sure," she said. Caleb and his desk disappeared, and she was treated to a slowly moving panoramic ocean scene, complete with beach sounds. The wizarding equivalent of call-waiting.

Only a few minutes passed before Draco's office came into focus, and she saw him looking anxiously into the fire.

"Hermione," he said formally.

"Hi, Draco." She gave him a quick smile before launching into her request. "I need a favor. I have this idea that I think might work, but it's a bit complicated."

"Name it," he said.

"I need a Portkey to Paris, same place as yesterday, for two-fifteen our time. Set it to return me to Hogsmeade two hours, ten minutes later."

Draco frowned. "You're going back to the bank?"

"Yes. I can't really explain right now. I'll write to you when I return." She needed him to simply agree without asking any questions. Time was of the essence.

"All right," he agreed warily. "Do you still have the one you used last time?"

She nodded. "Do you need it?"

"No," he answered slowly, "they'll be able to just reconnect it, since the location is the same."

Hermione smiled warmly. "Thank you, Draco."

He seemed to be fighting with himself about reacting, and eventually just nodded rapidly. "You're welcome. Make sure to let me know what this is all about later."

"I will! I promise!" Hermione was about to end the connection when a thought occurred to her. "Draco, wait!" she called.

He reappeared, his expression one of mild interest.

"Do you think it would be okay to use magic today? Since the money has already been taken?"

Draco's brow furrowed. "I-I'm not sure, I hadn't thought of it. I don't see why not. Hermione, what are you doing?"

"No time to explain. Thanks again!" She didn't wait for a reply to exit the Floo, and she sat on the floor and breathed a sigh of relief. She would have to end her class early today, but that was all right. As it was, she would only have two hours to get the video, and she had no idea yet how to accomplish it.

**ooo**

Hermione stared at the outside of the bank for a good ten minutes before she decided to simply Disillusion herself. If the blackmailer found out, he couldn't do anything but forbid magic at any time for future occasions. None of his letters mentioned anything about magic after the deadline had passed.

She returned to the alley and performed the spell, then stepped back into the plaza. Once she was outside the bank doors, she only had to wait a few minutes for someone to open the door so she could sneak in.

The same was true for the door that led into the back of the bank. However, finding the video would not be an easy task. Hermione tried to think of any movies she had seen that would help, but nothing came to mind. With no other choice, she resorted to going through the rooms, one by one.

Half an hour later, she found the monitoring room. Two men sat at a desk and watched eight small monitors, each displaying a different scene.

"_Stupefy!_" she whispered, and the men slumped in their seats. Hermione quietly shut the door behind her and locked it, then propped the men up to look like they were still watching the monitors and put them under the full-body bind. From the outside looking in, nothing would appear amiss.

Frantically she searched for anything that would help, only to discover that all the recordings were digital.

"Blast!"

Hermione glanced around the room for a spare disk on which she could put the information. Silently she thanked her parents for buying a computer and that they had needed her help to set up. She successfully navigated through the hard drive, but when she came to the archived video data and attempted to put it on a CD, a password was required. Briefly, she considered reviving one of the guards and getting the code from him, but dismissed it. Time was running short.

There was a spell she had heard of from Harry, who had a friend who was in Magical Law Enforcement. It could provide magical passwords for low-level security. She wondered if the spell could be modified to work on Muggle electronic equipment. Somehow she doubted it, and didn't want to risk deleting the information entirely.

With just forty-five minutes remaining, Hermione decided to watch the video from the day before and use a Pensieve to examine it later. She clicked on the appropriate day, and eight images popped up. She couldn't focus on them all at once, but she knew they'd be reviewable in the Pensieve. She kept most of her attention on the safety deposit room and the back rooms of the bank, especially the room directly behind the deposit boxes, where bank employees had access to the wall behind the boxes. Then she put the video on fast-forward, starting from when Draco entered with the manager and made the deposit.

To her delight, the video ran even after the bank closed, and she got all the data from the time Draco was there to when he returned to check the box. Surely they would be able to see something; the money couldn't simply disappear into thin air.

She now had only five minutes before the Portkey was set to activate, but it didn't matter where she was if she was invisible. Hermione unlocked and opened the door and had just revived the guards when it activated, sending her hurtling through space to Hogsmeade.

Hermione felt triumphant, and it was evident in her letter to Draco.

_Draco,_

_I've just returned from my journey, and it was a success. I had wanted to watch my memory from the bank yesterday, to see if I could learn anything new. I borrowed Minerva's Pensieve, and it wasn't long before I noticed security cameras! They are a Muggle device used to record moving images._

_Long story short, I managed to get a recording of the security video from the time you left the money to this morning, when you went back. I didn't watch it though. We'll have to get a__nother Pensieve—I know Minerva wouldn't like me taking hers off school grounds—and I figured you would want to view the footage too, so I thought tomorrow night would be good, since you said you could be available. _

_I can fill you in on more details when I see you. Let me know if that is agreeable._

_Hermione_

His response later that evening was disheartening because she'd been hoping for a positive sign from him, something to show that they were okay. Instead she got a very short note that left her feeling less than enthusiastic.

_Hermione,_

_Thursday night it is. Come by around seven, I'll get the Pensieve._

_Draco_

**ooo**

Draco was anxious. In the days since he had last seen Hermione, he had tried to keep his thoughts focused on work and on trying to identify the blackmailer. Besides, he had no reason to think of her now that he'd mucked everything up. His world seemed far bleaker without the hope that had unknowingly taken root deep inside him.

Now she was due back at his house in a few minutes, and he was going to spend a large portion of his weekend with her. He wasn't sure how to act around her anymore.

He heard the Floo activating from his bedroom and took a deep breath.

"Draco?" she called.

"I'm coming." He joined her in the closet-room in time to see her removing her cloak.

"Hi." Her smile was timid, but it still set his heart racing.

"Hello," he returned awkwardly. Draco indicated the Pensive on the coffee table. "Shall we begin?"

"Right now?" she asked, puzzled.

Draco remained near the doorway and crossed his arms. "Well, yes. What else is there to do?"

Hermione's expression was confused, and she stood with her jumper half on, just her right arm through the sleeve. "I-I … shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry. Would you mind if I ran to the kitchen and found something to eat?"

He blinked. She had been expecting dinner, and why wouldn't she? Every night they had worked together, he had gladly provided the meal. "No, no," he said. "I'll call Chippy to bring us something."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." He forced a smile. "I wasn't thinking."

"If you'd like," she started, pulling her jumper completely off, "I could tell you about my day yesterday while we wait."

He agreed, and Hermione relayed her trip back to the bank. She became quite animated, clearly pleased with the success of her venture. As she talked, Draco slowly relaxed. Thankfully, she wasn't behaving any differently than she had before, so maybe things wouldn't be horrendously awkward.

Dinner arrived before she had finished, and he ate in strained silence as she talked through the first half of the meal.

Then she abruptly stopped, set down her fork and frowned.

"What?" he asked.

"This …. You. I don't want things to be weird between us."

Draco resolutely did not meet her eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't give me that," she said. "Ever since I got here you've been stiff and distant. It's just us, I know, but you can't be like that. We've got a relationship to fake."

There was no way he was going to confess to her that he was stiff and distant because he wanted her and she was in love with another man.

"It's nothing. I've had a long week," he explained. That much was true, at least. "I'll be back to normal by our date tomorrow night."

Hermione tilted her head slightly and looked at him thoughtfully. "Draco, may I ask you something?"

"Sure," he replied warily.

She placed her fork on her plate and took a breath. "I've seen a few different sides to you, and I was wondering which one was the real Draco Malfoy."

He frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Are you the man I see on our dates? Who laughs easily, makes silly, snarky jokes and intelligent conversation?" She smiled shyly. "Or are you really angry and snappish, which I've seen break through the exterior on an occasion or two. Maybe you're the man I see most often, weary and aged beyond your years."

Draco shifted awkwardly. The question made him uncomfortable. "I … don't have a good answer for you. Can't I be all three?"

She smiled. "Oh sure, everyone has sides to their personalities. I was merely wondering which one was predominant."

He sighed. "I don't know. I'm just … me. This is me. I don't sit around and feel sorry for myself, but I also don't have a lot to be happy about."

Hermione considered his words, really gave thought to them in light of what she knew about his life and what she had learned over the past month. His childhood was pampered, he was the apple of his mother's eye, and he got everything he wanted. When Voldemort returned, he had expected that life to improve; instead, his father had landed in Azkaban, and he had been given the task of killing Dumbledore or his own parents would be killed.

That year had been very difficult for him, and in the end, he couldn't do it. The following year he had spent trying to be invisible—to his parents, Voldemort, the teachers at school, and even, to some degree, his own friends. Immediately after the war ended, his father was once again sent to prison, and the job of running a multi-million Galleon company had been dropped in his lap with no training and no help. Then, to top it all off, he received the blackmail letters, a burden he couldn't share with anyone. In the seven years that followed, he worked almost every waking moment to make his life, and the life of his mother, tolerable, without letting her know their financial strains.

No, she doubted he had much to smile about.

"That's … not fair," she said finally.

Draco looked at her, resignation on his face. "That's life, Hermione. That's _my_ life, anyway. No one ever promised it would be fair."

"So you don't know who you really are."

His eyes were heavy with sadness that he couldn't hide. "I would very much like to find out some day."

They were silent for a while, and Draco was lost in his thoughts. He had never been allowed to simply be, to float indeterminately until something struck his fancy. When the mess with the blackmailer was finished, he looked forward to discovering what he wanted for his future.

One thing he knew for certain: he wanted to love and be loved. It was impossible for him not to think of Hermione as he considered this, and he thought it was strange how easy it was now to admit he cared for her, wanted her, fancied her. Perhaps because he knew he couldn't have her, there was no risk in the admission.

"Are you ready to begin?" Hermione asked.

He nodded and followed her to the sofa.

Carefully, Hermione removed the memory and put it in the Pensieve. "I'll go first," she said, and then dipped her finger into the iridescent fluid.

When she disappeared, Draco took a deep breath before plunging a fist through the liquid's surface. He arrived beside Hermione in a small room. Two men sat apparently lifeless in chairs, and one wall was covered with small television screens. Draco knew enough about Muggle technology to recognize them.

"Over here," Hermione said, motioning to where a third chair was Summoned, seemingly out of nowhere.

Then he remembered that she'd been invisible. Together they watched the video screens as they sped through the nineteen hours of footage in a little over half an hour. Nothing interesting happened in the safety deposit box rooms, but at about eleven-thirty at night, according to the timestamp on the video, someone entered the room on the opposite side of the wall from Draco's box, removed a picture from the wall, and opened a back door to the box. The money was removed, the picture replaced, and the person disappeared.

Draco and Hermione left the memory, and Hermione sat staring at the Pensieve. "I can't believe it," she said after a while.

"Did you get a good look at the man?"

"Yes, I saw him yesterday and today. He works for the bank, as a teller. It's not a very prominent position …." She shook her head. "What I don't understand is why no one noticed! It's on video!"

Draco frowned. "Either no one monitors the videos at night, and since no one has reported anything stolen, they haven't bothered to look, or whoever is watching the videos has been given an incentive not to notice anything."

"I'm almost certain that a guard sits in that room twenty-four hours a day. If that man in the video is a bank employee, what is he doing getting the money like that for the blackmailer?" Hermione stood and started slowly pacing.

"The blackmailer might have an accomplice, who got a job at the bank for just this purpose. Or—and this is my gut instinct—the blackmailer put the employee under the Imperius and possibly the night guard as well."

She stopped and turned to face him, leaning against the wall. "You think Dark magic is involved?"

Draco nodded. "It's the most likely scenario. The blackmailer's already shown no qualms in using Dark Arts with the spell on the letters. Since this employee isn't someone either of us recognizes, I think we can almost certainly rule out a willing accomplice. The Imperius fits, Hermione."

"You're right, it makes the most sense," she said. "However, I'm still going to check on that man, see if he's a Muggle or wizard, find out when he was hired."

"And how are you going to do that?" he asked, one eyebrow rising on his forehead.

"The bank is open on Saturday. I'll go in, try to talk to him. Flirt a little, if I have to." She smiled and shrugged. "I'll figure out something."

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know that it would be such a good idea for you to flirt with him," he said, trying not to sound too upset at the idea.

"It'll be harmless, I'm sure," she returned.

"What if he is a wizard? An accomplice or even the blackmailer in disguise? He'll surely recognize you, and then you could be in danger."

Hermione scoffed. "I'll be in disguise, and besides, I think I can handle him."

Draco stood and went toward her. "It's not that I'm worried about your abilities, Hermione. If my fears are confirmed, then we're dealing with a Death Eater. I don't want you getting too close. You're already a target because we're dating. I won't risk it."

Hermione wavered between annoyance that he thought his word was final where she was concerned and feeling flattered that he was clearly worried about her well-being. "Do you really think we are dealing with a Death Eater?" she asked, steering the conversation in another direction. She would go to the bank Saturday, whether he wanted her to or not.

"Yes," he said gravely. "I've always had my suspicions; I knew it was someone who practiced Dark Arts, but now … with the Imperius … Have you heard of Occam's razor?"

"Of course," she said. "All things being equal, the simplest explanation is best."

"The simplest explanation in this case is that a Death Eater is blackmailing me, using some hapless Muggle to retrieve the money and somehow get it to him, and then living a like a king on my money." Draco didn't bother trying to hide his anger. "If I'm right, this situation just became more dangerous for you," he said. "I don't want you taking any unnecessary risks. This is my problem, I will handle it."

Her eyes widened. "You don't want my help anymore?"

"What? No!" he blurted. "I mean, yes, I still want your help. But the field work goes to me from now on."

"That's ridiculous," she argued, crossing her arms. "I am more than capable of completing whatever mission we devise."

Draco took a step nearer, his expression torn. "Please don't misunderstand me, Hermione. I would never question your capability. But I cannot ask—I _won't_ ask—for you to put yourself in danger for this problem which is solely my own."

Hermione inhaled sharply. The look in his eyes was almost … desperation? Why would he be so adamant against her future participation? "You don't have to ask."

Her statement surprised him. He knew she was fiercely loyal, but he had never anticipated that loyalty would ever include him. Draco was touched, but he also knew he wouldn't be convincing her, either. He decided to let it go and deal with it if the subject resurfaced.

"I appreciate that," he said with a half-smile. Merlin, she'd made him forget that she was in love with someone else. He hadn't noticed that they had moved and were standing only a few feet from each other, and now when he looked into her eyes, he saw that she had just made the same realization.

"Let's talk about tomorrow," he said, retreating from where she stood and returning to an armchair.

"That's right; we have a date to plan." She smiled warily.

"I have three options for you, and it's your choice." He clasped his hands in his lap. "One, the Russian Magical Philharmonic is in London for two performances, one tomorrow night. It's supposed to be quite a show; they've combined Muggle and magical instruments."

She merely nodded, and he continued. "Two, there is a book reading in Hogsmeade with Geralyne Hanswick, and she'll also be signing her latest book."

Hermione gasped. "I love all of her novels!"

Draco raised an eyebrow and silently thanked Blaise for his information. "Finally, there is an important Quidditch game between England and Spain. Both teams are undefeated, and the winner will claim the top spot in the rankings. The choice is yours."

Hermione nearly blurted out the book reading, but then she stopped to think. That choice would be mostly for her, and the fact that Draco had even suggested it sent the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Clearly he'd been thinking about her with that option.

They would probably both enjoy the symphony, but it was such a formal occasion, and they would be required to sit in silence the entire evening.

The Quidditch game, however, would be mostly for Draco. That was her choice, and she told him so.

His jaw dropped. "A-are you certain?"

"I am," she replied firmly. "Just tell me what colors to wear."

Draco then narrowed his eyes at her. Never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed she would pick the Quidditch game, and he was instantly suspicious. "Why?"

Hermione laughed. "I can't tell you my nefarious plot, Draco. That would ruin the surprise!"

He relaxed and sighed. "In all seriousness: why? I thought you hated Quidditch?"

"I don't hate it, never have," she explained, taking a seat on the sofa. "I've never understood the appeal, but I have always enjoyed cheering for Gryffindor, and for Ireland at the World Cup. It's an exciting sport, and I'm sure I'll have a good time."

"Better than the other two?" he asked skeptically.

"Maybe, maybe not." She shrugged. "I know you'd enjoy Quidditch the most, that you never take a break from your work, never take a holiday, and that you're always stressed about finances and the blackmailer. This date is for you as much as for me, so … That's why."

Draco had wanted to kiss her on a few occasions before, but that was the first time he really had to struggle to refrain. It wasn't that she had said yes to the game, by far his first choice, but that she had done it for him. She was right; in the seven years he had been head of Malfoy, Inc., he hadn't taken a single day off work. When he was sick, he'd simply worked from his bed. He had been to various events, even a Quidditch match or two, but they were all business related. Not one had been simply for fun.

Hermione noticed the strange way Draco was looking at her and her heart started pounding. They weren't exactly close, she was at the far end of the sofa from where he sat in his chair, but he looked as though he might leap across that space and kiss her. She would not have objected.

The moment passed, and Draco shifted in the chair. "Quidditch it is, then. England's colors are blue and gold."

"Lovely," she remarked, more disappointed than she could have anticipated that the kiss didn't happen. "What time should I be here?"

"The game begins at six. I'll get us a box, and we can have dinner there," he said.

"Maybe we shouldn't get a box," she said, thoughtful. "The more I think about it, the more I realize what a good choice the match is."

"Oh? How so?"

"I would imagine a lot of people will be there, and more people will see us. It'll be a great chance to show them that the whole business with Charlie really was nothing. They'll see us together, happy, and then Rita's rubbish won't matter anymore." She smiled at her conclusion.

"Good point." Draco returned the smile, and then quickly decided he needed to be anywhere but in an enclosed space with her a minute longer. He stood from his seat and began tidying the room.

Hermione got the message. "Well, tomorrow then," she said, activating the Floo. "What time should I arrive?"

"How about five-thirty?" he suggested. "That will give us time to get there and find our seats without worrying about missing the opening whistle."

"All right." She smiled. "Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Hermione."

His back was to her, and she smiled as she stepped into the waiting flames. Hopefully the whole unpleasant business about Charlie and Carrie was behind them, and they could move forward with their task.

_And maybe something more_.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thanks for reading!! Art for this chapter was done by moonjameskitten. Be sure to check it out! See the link on my profile. You can also find the link to the playlist, done by inadaze22, and the BEAUTIFUL trailer by Breenieweenie. Chapter title taken from one of the songs on this week's playlist, _Gray or Blue_, by Jaymay.


	16. Do This With Me

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Poll Update: **Caleb Matthews remains the top suspect in the blackmailing for the third week in a row! He's followed closely by 'Harry, acting for Lucius,' and the Lestrange brothers. New poll up for your voting pleasure! Eliminated this week: Adrian Pucey & Daphne Greengrass.

**Chapter 16**** - - Do This With Me**

Draco woke up Friday in a good mood, and nothing, not even his impending lunch with Pansy, could ruin it. He started the day with his usual two cups of coffee and half a dose of the modified Pepper-Up before dressing and heading to work.

When Caleb arrived, Draco set him to a special task, one that gave the secretary pause. "Are you certain, Sir? You don't want me to sort your mail, handle your Floo messages …?"

"Sort the mail, yes, please. Then I'll deal with the messages. I need the information by lunch." Draco even gave the younger man a clap on the back before ushering him out of the office.

The morning meetings flew by faster than usual, and soon Draco was Apparating to Diagon Alley to meet Pansy. She had picked a new café for them to try and was already at a table when he arrived.

"Hello, Pansy," he said brightly.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked immediately, her brow furrowed in concern.

Draco laughed. "Nothing! What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You never smile at me," she explained, crossing her arms. "You rarely smile, period, and you're never excited to see me. What's going on?"

"I'm … happy," he said, realizing it was true. Merlin, he needed to figure this out before things got out of hand. Otherwise, when he and Hermione parted ways, his reaction would not be good. Though, at least his sour mood would be authentic.

Pansy raised on perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "Oh? I take it things with Granger are back on track, then?"

"They were never off track," he said.

She looked skeptical. "So that whole business with Charlie Weasley was … what, exactly?"

"Just as I said," Draco replied. "They were at the awards banquet as friends. His date had cancelled on him, he asked her to go."

"Then why was she so bloody happy in those photos?" Pansy demanded.

Draco shrugged. "Turns out he was getting an award for his care of dragons. He had done something to improve their quality of life, or something. You know how she's always been interested in the rights of magical creatures."

"And you have always thought it was rubbish," Pansy said pointedly.

"That's true," he admitted. "However, it's hard to dismiss her arguments. She gets so incredibly passionate about her causes."

Pansy smirked. "I see why you listen. You just get her all worked up and then shag her rotten. You're terrible, Draco Malfoy."

Draco shook his head and drank his entire glass of water, all the while thinking unpleasant thoughts about Filch cleaning the loo so that he wouldn't react to Pansy's statement. The last thing he needed to do was think about shagging Hermione in any way, much less after she was all fired up about something.

Another glass of water was required.

"You all right?" Pansy asked.

"Fine. Just fine. How are you?" He knew how she loved talking about herself and hoped to steer her attention away from Hermione.

"We're not finished talking about you, yet," she declared. "So she isn't in love with Weasley?"

"They're just friends," he insisted, silently cheering himself for his half-truth.

"If you say so," Pansy sighed. "I suppose she is spared another day."

The waiter arrived with their meals and both began to eat. As Pansy added a lump of sugar to her tea, she asked, "What's got you in such a good mood though? I assume that you'll be seeing Granger, but that's nothing new."

"You're right," he affirmed. "I am seeing Hermione—I really wish you'd start calling her that. And even though that's enough to make me happy, we're going to a Quidditch game tonight. The big one, England against Spain."

Pansy frowned. "I didn't know Granger was into Quidditch."

"She doesn't follow it, but she likes to watch." He shrugged. "It was her choice."

Pansy studied him in silence for a few seconds, and then her expression softened. "Wait. You're going to a game? Draco, that … that's incredible! You haven't done anything for yourself since … well, too long."

He grinned. "I know. I'm really looking forward to it."

"What did you mean, it was her choice?" Pansy asked. After Draco's explanation, her eyes were wide. "She picked Quidditch over books? Are you sure this is really Granger and not some Polyjuiced version?"

Draco chuckled, and suddenly he didn't want to share Hermione's reason with Pansy. Even if she could appreciate it, he wanted to keep that between Hermione and him.

"I'm quite certain," he said, turning his attention to his food in hopes that Pansy wouldn't press the topic. After a few moments of uncharacteristic silence, he glanced up to find Pansy worrying her lip. "Pansy?"

She smiled automatically, but then her expression turned apprehensive. "I've got something to tell you."

"All right," he said, giving her his full attention.

"The thing is … I'm sort of … well, I'm seeing someone," she stammered.

Draco almost laughed at how worked up she'd made herself to say _that_. But laughing would probably anger her and she wouldn't continue talking about it. "Yeah?" he said simply.

"Yes," she continued. "He's a really great man, Draco. Kind, thoughtful, attentive, compassionate … I'm quite crazy about him."

"That's wonderful." He smiled. Her tone was different this time than with any man she had mentioned before. She hadn't made a single comment about his looks or his prowess. That was certainly telling.

"I would like for you to meet him," she added, her knuckles white from gripping her napkin.

"Of course," he said reassuringly. "I'd be glad to."

"Are you busy tomorrow night?" Pansy asked. "I'd like to have you over for dinner. You and … Hermione."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm not sure which should shock me more: you inviting her over, or calling her by her name."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Is that a yes?"

"Actually, can we make it another day? We've got plans at the Burrow." He tried to say it with a straight face, but couldn't quite manage it. He blinked.

"Amazing," Pansy said, shaking her head. "You must really be in a bad way to willingly go there."

The line between the truth and the lie had long been blurred, so much so now that Draco didn't have to worry about what he was saying. "You could say that," he admitted.

"Don't tell me you love her," Pansy scolded. "You've only been together a month—I know, I've been keeping track."

"If I'm not, then I'm well on my way," he replied, taking a sip from his tea.

Pansy gasped. "You aren't going to … to _marry_ her, are you? Merlin's beard, what would your parents say? Oh! Do they even know? Lucius can't approve, but if your mother has taken a liking to her, then he'll be civil for her." She paused only long enough to catch her breath. "That's what you have to do. Ingratiate her to your mother. Then Lucius will accept her."

"Whoa, whoa, stop!" Draco exclaimed, chuckled. "You're getting quite ahead of yourself. As you said, we've only been together a month. As for my parents … Let's just say their vacation was well-timed."

"Surely they must know," Pansy argued.

"They do, and Father wasn't pleased. As you could well understand, given his … history of intolerance and family history."

"And your mother?" she asked.

Draco cleared his throat. "In her most recent letter, she said she was looking forward to meeting Hermione. Enough about me, tell me how long you've been seeing this bloke I'm to meet." He wasn't looking forward to what would follow: a lengthy detailing of all their dates, letters, and rendezvous, but if she was talking about herself, then she couldn't think about him and Hermione.

He was surprised, therefore, when Pansy clammed up and said nothing more than, "A few weeks."

Draco tried to get her to expound, but she refused to provide him any details, including the man's name. He did promise to discuss the possibility of dinner the following Saturday with Hermione, and Pansy assured him that all his questions would be answered at that time.

As he returned to his office, Draco decided the whole conversation had been strange, but it had not dampened his mood in the least.

**ooo**

At five minutes until six, Hermione was rushing from the Slytherin Common Room to her own rooms. She had requested Samaya's help with straightening her hair, something she rarely did and only when aided by a professional. The idea was to make it look like she was putting effort into her relationship with Draco.

However, the entire exercise had been more effort than either she or Samaya had anticipated. Already late, she still had to change, get her things together, and Floo to Draco's room.

"Hey, Hermione!" said Harry as she rushed down the hall.

"Oh, hi, Harry!" she called back, not slowing.

"Where are you going?" he asked, hurrying to follow her.

"Meeting Draco. At six. I'm late," she panted.

"What's on the agenda?" Harry was jogging lightly to keep up.

"Quidditch." He stopped. Hermione considered leaving him, but couldn't. She turned around, breathing heavily. "What?"

"Quidditch. Tonight. _The_ game?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"I suppose you could call it _the _game. Which starts in … oh, bollocks! Two minutes! I've got to go, Harry!" She resumed her course to her room, this time full-out running.

"What about tomorrow?" he shouted.

"We'll be there!" Hermione called out her password before she reached the door, and opened it with a quickly muttered spell. Once inside, she started throwing her clothes off and pulling on the pair of jeans and long-sleeved blue shirt she had picked out. She'd Charmed it to have gold stripes at the ends of the sleeves and around the collar—England's colors, but subtly displayed.

She wrapped a cloak around her shoulders, slipped into a pair of brown flats, and put on a little lip gloss. The Floo was waiting, and she called out her destination and rushed into the flames.

Draco was pacing when she emerged, and he looked up, startled. Then he stared as he took in the sight of her.

"Your hair," he commented.

"Do you like it?" she asked. Samaya had straightened it, then applied a product that would make it shiny.

"It's nice," he said, still examining it curiously. "It really makes you look different."

Hermione couldn't help but notice that for the first time since they'd been 'dating,' he hadn't complimented her. "Different is good?"

"Different is … different. I suppose I'm so used to seeing your hair curly that I'm not quite sure what to make of this yet." He smiled. "You look lovely."

It didn't help. All that effort she had put into her hair, all that time …. "Oh! I'm so sorry I'm late!"

He laughed. "It's fine. We won't really miss much. Are you ready to go?"

She nodded.

"We'll be using the Traveling Room," Draco said. "This fireplace is only connected to your room. Is that all right?"

"Yes, I think I've conquered your drawing room. Not that I'd like to spend any time there." For the first time, Hermione noticed what he was wearing: khaki trousers, brown shoes, and a dark blue, long-sleeved v-neck T-shirt that clung to every hard line on his chest and arms. He was thin and lean, muscular but not bulging.

She blatantly stared—ogled, rather—as he walked through his bedroom.

He paused at the door and frowned at his apparel. "Is something the matter?"

"Not at all," she said, swallowing hard. "I've … just … never seen you in anything but work attire. It just occurred to me." Surely he would see through that lame comment!

"I wasn't even sure I had anything," he said, motioning her out the door. "I've had this shirt since Hogwarts, and I think it might be too snug."

"No!" Hermione rushed. "It's not. It's perfectly fine. Besides, it's too late to change."

Draco eyed her skeptically, but said nothing more. In the Traveling Room, he grabbed a light jacket and an over-cloak. Then they traveled via Floo to the Quidditch stadium.

**ooo**

Draco had done as Hermione suggested and purchased tickets that weren't in a box. However, he still had a reputation to uphold, so he got seats that were in the next best section. Each place had a cushioned seat and back, cup holder, and call button, which could be used to order food from an extensive menu.

Unlike the Quidditch World Cup, England's stadium was permanent, and the season ticket holders were granted luxurious perks.

"Wow, this is amazing!" Hermione said, testing out the reclining capability of her seat.

"Hard to imagine we're not watching this on the telly," Draco commented, pulling the menu from a pocket on the outside of his chair. The score was 30-10, England behind. The teams were well-matched, so a long game was anticipated.

"You know," said Hermione, turning in her spot to face him. "That's not the first time you've mentioned Muggle technology. And when I was telling you about my trip to the bank, you never stopped me to ask me to explain about cameras, or computers, or CDs. Why is that?"

Draco blinked, completely taken by surprise at her question. "I … To be honest, the details are boring."

"I'm pretty sure we're going to be sitting here awhile," Hermione said teasingly.

He considered his options but came to the conclusion there was no harm in telling her. He had already confessed his biggest secret, and he trusted that she wouldn't break his confidence in this matter, either.

"I've never told this to anyone," he said as a warning.

"Really? Why not?" She repositioned her body in the seat, both legs on the floor and facing the game. However, she leaned closer to Draco so he could speak quietly.

"My father, I suppose. Protection from those who aren't so tolerant." Draco had leaned closer as she had, and now he could smell her hair. It was different, but not unpleasantly so. Still, it wasn't quite _her_.

"Oh?" Hermione said.

"It's nothing bad," Draco assured her. "It's just … oh, hang it all. Many years ago, my father invested in Muggle communications. That's how he gained most of his current fortune."

Hermione gasped, which happened to coincide with a goal for England. "You're lying."

"No. When I found out, I was … astonished. Dumbfounded."

"I don't blame you!" she said, still stunned at his admission.

"It took me a full year to get familiar with the products my father dealt in. He'd started in phone service, long distance, but then the field exploded, and he added cellular companies, internet … Now I'm hearing big things about something called Bluetooth. Have to make a decision on that in the coming weeks."

"This is so surreal," Hermione said, glancing out over the action. One of England's Chasers had the Quaffle and was racing toward Spain's goals. "We're at a Quidditch game, talking about cell phones. Do you have one?"

"Not anymore. I did for awhile, but I didn't care for it. I got calls at all hours, it was impersonal, and I didn't like conducting business that way. Got rid of it."

"Wow," she said. "I suppose I can see why you wouldn't want that information readily available." Hermione paused, and then scowled. "Lucius Malfoy can belittle, kill, torture, and maim Muggles, but he has no problem working with them, so long as it bolsters his Gringotts account."

Draco hadn't been prepared for her quick jump to anger, but it didn't surprise him. "I know," he said softly, staring at her hand. Her hand was clenched in a fist, so he gently threaded his fingers between hers and gave a small squeeze. She immediately relaxed.

"As long as there are Death Eaters still on the loose, I think it's a good idea not to tell people what my business does," Draco explained. "They might retaliate." Then he scoffed and whispered, "Maybe that's why I'm being blackmailed."

Hermione shivered at the feel of his warm breath. "Do you think so?" she breathed.

Pulling away slightly, he shook his head. "Not really. I know for a fact that my father never discussed his business with other Death Eaters, and there are no former or current Death Eaters employed by Malfoy, Inc. Except me." His tone was gritty. "Since I'm convinced a Death Eater is behind it, then I don't think that is the reason."

Hermione glanced at him. "Can you be absolutely certain? What if a Death Eater somehow found out about your father's business? Just because there are no Death Eaters in your employ doesn't mean there isn't someone sympathetic to the cause who'd want to hurt your family."

Draco considered her words, then shook his head. "My uncles don't know about my father's business, and they know better than to cross him."

"Your uncles?" Hermione repeated. "How can you be sure they don't know?"

"They're duty- and magically-bound to alert my father—or me—of any conspiracies or threats against the family," Draco explained. "If they'd heard something, even a whisper, they'd have informed me right away, and in the seven years since my father's imprisonment, they've said not a word."

Hermione looked at him, slightly horrified. "You've … seen them?"

"Yes. They've been at the Manor a number of times," he replied.

"They've been at your _house_?" she said, incredulous. "And you didn't turn them in?"

Now he gave her a questioning look. "Why would I do that?"

Hermione scoffed and crossed her arms. "Oh, I don't know," she bit out sarcastically. "Maybe because they're two of the most wanted Death Eaters on the Ministry's wanted list? They killed countless muggles, perpetrated untold vicious crimes—need I go on?"

Draco didn't like the direction of the conversation. The last thing he wanted was for them to argue, especially about his insane uncles. "They're family, Hermione. My hands were tied."

"They're dangerous, evil men," she argued vehemently.

"What would you have done?" he demanded gently. "In pure-blood tradition, Rabastan and Rodolphus are considered my father's brothers, even though they're only related through marriage to my mother's sister. I know what they did—trust me, I don't like them—but I couldn't betray them like that."

Hermione watched the game, her brow furrowed.

"I hope you don't think less of me," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't," she said eventually. "It's just difficult to comprehend. I know they're family, but … I could never feel safe knowing they could show up at any moment."

Draco frowned. "Despite their history, I've never felt unsafe around them. I suppose that's for the same reason I wouldn't turn them in; they're family. They wouldn't hurt me."

Hermione nodded. "But how can you say that because _they_ don't know about a plan to hurt you that there isn't one?"

"Well, I suppose it's possible," he admitted. "Though, as you said, they're two of the most wanted Death Eaters out there. I just think they'd have heard about it."

"As long as you don't rule out the possibility," said Hermione, looking at him with kind eyes. "It would be easy for me to sit here and tell you what you should have done, but one thing the war taught me is that no one can know how they'll act when put into impossible circumstances. So I shouldn't judge someone for not doing what I instinctually think they should do."

"Thank you," he said, looking down at the seat in front of him.

She gave his hand a squeeze and smiled when he looked at her. He smiled back.

Soon Draco was absorbed in the game, his free hand occasionally mimicking the moves of the players. She smiled, wondering if he even knew he was doing it.

"See him? Number twelve?" Draco asked, pointing toward one end of the field.

"Yes, I see him," she affirmed.

"Today, I had Caleb do a little research on these team,s and I read over it after lunch instead of the financial reports I was supposed to read. Anyway, as we missed the starting lineups, we missed his name. But it's someone you know."

Hermione tried to focus on the player, but he was moving so fast that she couldn't see his face. "I don't know, who is it?"

"Oliver Wood," Draco said, turning to watch Hermione's expression. As he did so, however, his eyes fell on something else. He let his gaze linger for an instant, then sat back in his seat. "Looks like your idea worked."

"What idea?" Hermione asked, still trying to make out Wood's features. "I thought he played Keeper?"

"He did, but then a few years ago, someone on the Puddlemere United managing staff noticed that he flew really well, and asked him to play Chaser in a few practices. He went from back-up Keeper to starting Chaser." Draco chuckled.

"That's very interesting," Hermione said. "I may have heard Harry and Ron talking about him, now that you mention it. What idea?" she repeated.

"Oh, right." Draco turned his body toward Hermione's. "Your idea to sit out here and not in a box. We're being watched. Don't look," he added hastily.

"That's good, then," she said, her leg knocking against his. "Just what we wanted."

Draco was about to say something, but he stopped. They did indeed want someone with a camera and nosy nature to spot them, but something had to be done in order to convince people—and more importantly, the blackmailer—that they were still an item.

"I've got to kiss you," he whispered, leaning close.

His proximity and his words set off a cascade of exploding fireworks in her stomach. "You've got to do what?" she asked.

"Kiss you. Not on the cheek. To sell it for good." He glanced over her shoulder and saw the man with the camera, still trained on them.

Hermione could barely breathe. Of course it was just for the silly magazine, but that knowledge didn't mean her heart would stop pounding any time soon. She hadn't really given much thought to public displays of affection. They weren't something she did a lot in the first place, and with a boyfriend who was only pretend, it seemed such occurrences would be rare. Still, with the rumors about Charlie, something noteworthy was required in order to quell them.

"Hermione?"

"Right, yes. Fine. Good thinking," she rushed out.

"It has to look natural. That's important. It can't look like our first kiss." His palms were beginning to sweat and he rubbed them on his trousers. "Has to look like we've done it a hundred times."

"Oh, I agree," she said nervously.

Draco had no idea how to go about making a kiss look natural when he was required to do it. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered how kisses even happened in the first place! It had been a long time since he had kissed someone like this—just because he wanted to, and nothing more. He had very rarely kissed Carrie during the years she came to him; he could count the occasions on one hand. Kisses were reserved for relationships, and at least six years had passed since he had been in one.

Yet people kissed all the time. He scanned the seats, looking to catch another couple in the act. He found three pairs who happened to lock lips while his gaze swept past them. It looked so easy, not at all the enormous thing it was quickly becoming in his mind.

Then it hit him: he was thinking about it. When you want to kiss a girl, you just do it, you don't think.

Hermione was facing slightly away from him, her attention on the goal where most of the players had congregated in a fight for the Quaffle.

Draco edged closer to her, took her chin in his hand, and turned her to face him. Then, without thinking, without breathing—he couldn't if he had wanted to—he gently, briefly, covered her lips with his.

Hermione smiled intensely at him, returned her attention to the game, and it was only then that he could breathe again. It was over too quickly, but it felt exactly right, the most natural thing in the world. Was that his technique, or was it kissing her? Really, a conclusion couldn't be drawn on such singular research. A few more kisses that night were in order.

For her part, Hermione was still trying to calm her racing heart. His light touch on her chin, his soft, pliant lips on hers … It was all she could do not to hyperventilate. How she played it so cool afterward, she would never know. Merlin, it was just a tiny kiss! Barely a kiss, even, and yet she was unable to concentrate on anything afterwards.

It was probably the extreme circumstances, the build-up. One little kiss couldn't possibly affect her so much.

**ooo**

Draco managed to get in another kiss. Right after an England score, Hermione was cheering, and he just acted. He put his arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed her solidly for a few seconds. When they parted, her expression was one of bewilderment.

He had hoped to get in a third—just for good measure, in case the photographer had missed the first two—but didn't get his chance. After four hours, the score was 230-310, Spain. There had been a few Snitch sightings, but the Seekers were so well-matched that when one had the advantage, the other was able to distract him from his goal.

Hermione had felt extremely uncomfortable after Draco kissed her the second time. It wasn't the kiss itself—all prior theories about circumstances were thrown out the window, as she hadn't been expecting this one and had still felt near to swooning. Especially when he lightly touched his tongue to her lip before pulling away.

The difficult part was how much she wanted it to be real. His acting skills were far too convincing if they extended to being able to give breathtaking, sensual kisses at Quidditch games to a woman he wasn't in a relationship with. It wasn't fair. Then again, he had probably been with dozens of women. He had certainly kept a regular appointment with one for she didn't know how long. He probably kissed women as easily as he breathed.

Suddenly, the crowd reacted as one when the Snitch was spotted. Both Seekers tore after it, trying to gain an advantage. The crowd, Draco and Hermione included, was on its feet, chanting. Lights in the stadium were flashing rhythmically, and Hermione started to get dizzy.

She blinked, and shook her head to try and clear her head, but it was quickly starting to throb in sync with the noise. Then everything disappeared and she fell into a kind of trance.

Draco noticed her stop cheering and go very still. Her eyes became glazed over and then she started blinking rapidly.

"Hermione?" he said, then shouted her name in an attempt to be heard. "Hermione!"

She made no response, but a look of pure terror was beginning to form on her face.

"Hermione!" This time he grabbed her arm, hoping to jolt her out of … whatever was going on. Still no effect. Now she was beginning to shake. Draco looked toward the cameraman and saw that his attention was on the game. Draco linked his arm through Hermione's and Disapparated them both to an empty box near the top of the stadium.

The shaking had increased and she looked locked in a silent scream. Draco laid her on the sofa and she immediately curled into a ball. He was terrified; he had no idea what was going on, no idea how to help her. He had seen similar symptoms before, but never so severe.

Without knowing if it would do any good, he knelt on the floor and wrapped his arms around her. She continued to buck in his grasp for a few minutes, then the tremors began to slow. Draco held her until they stopped, and after what felt like a very long time, she finally opened her eyes.

"Draco?"

He released her somewhat and shifted his body so he could look at her face. "Hey."

"I … Where are we?" she asked, glancing around the unfamiliar space.

Draco drew his arms away entirely and sat on the floor. "I brought us somewhere quiet. Are you okay?"

She nodded, still taking in her surroundings. "This isn't your home."

"No. I rented a box for the game in addition to our seats. In case you wanted to eat up here, or get away from the crowd."

Hermione turned toward him. "We're still at the game?"

"Yes," he replied. "We can leave if you'd like. I merely wanted to get you somewhere out of the way."

"No, we can stay. That was very thoughtful, Draco."

He nodded dismissively. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

She put a hand to her forehead and massaged her temples. "I think the lights, and the sounds …."

"You had an attack," he attested. "I've seen similar symptoms before, Hermione. I doubt this was your first."

Her expression turned to discomfiture, her already flushed cheeks brightening. "No. But it's been a while since the last really bad one. I almost had one at your house a few weeks ago, but I was startled right out of it."

"Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed about," Draco insisted, climbing onto the sofa beside her.

She shrugged. "I know that. It's just, these attacks come at the most inopportune times. They can be rather embarrassing."

"Well, no one even noticed. They were too busy watching the game."

Hermione looked at him, her eyes roaming over his face. They stopped on his right cheek and he did his best not to flinch under her scrutiny.

"What's this from?" she asked, lightly tracing the marred skin. "Did it hurt?"

"Ironically, the same source as your attacks: my Aunt."

Her eyes shifted to his and she retracted her hand. "What happened?"

"Bellatrix wanted me to torture a friend of mine simply because he hadn't paid her the 'proper respect,' as she called it. I refused." He made a face. "First time, too. I didn't see her move, she was so quick. Backhanded me hard, and she happened to be wearing an especially pointy ring that day."

"Do you have other scars?" Hermione asked softly.

He swallowed uncomfortably. "Yes."

She nodded. "Sometimes I try and think of these attacks as battle wounds."

"I couldn't believe how brave you were that day," Draco confessed, grateful the conversation had turned away from his scars. "You wouldn't give up. I thought you were telling the truth about the sword, but Bellatrix just kept at it. When I later learned you had been lying …." He shook his head. "I've never known someone as strong as you. Not even Death Eaters, grown men, could stand up to the Cruciatus the way you did."

Hermione smiled. "Perhaps my cause was simply the one worth dying for."

"I've never thought of it like that," he said. "I'm sure you're right."

Hermione glanced again around the room. "Why don't we open these curtains so we can see the game? Did it end?"

"I'm not sure!" Draco said, grinning. He used his wand to move the curtains, revealing the entire pitch and the frenzied crowd. "Guess not."

"The view is incredible," she said. "And look, there's a screen for replays."

"Excellent." Draco leaned back in his seat and settled in to watch the game. "Do you need anything? There's the equivalent of room service, if you get hungry."

"I'm fine for now." After a few minutes of watching the game in silence, Hermione spoke again, this time very business-like. "Draco, do you wear cologne?"

He frowned, completely caught off guard. "Sometimes …"

"Are you wearing it tonight?"

"I am," he replied, feeling suddenly warm around the collar. "Why?"

"I'd appreciate it if you would tell me exactly what happened after you noticed there was something wrong."

Draco nodded and retold the short story. Hermione was thoughtful the entire time.

"I've never had an attack go away so quickly," she explained when he had finished. "I remember being able to smell something when I was going through the flashback. As I focused part of my mind on trying to figure out the foreign scent, I was gradually drawn out of the attack."

"You think there might be a connection," he said, completing her thought.

"Exactly. Would you give me the name of the cologne?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied.

She looked him over briefly, pausing on his hair. "Shampoo, too. And … Do you use any other products?"

Draco chuckled. "I will provide you with a full and detailed list, Hermione."

"Thank you," she replied. Her scientifically oriented mind had a strong desire to sniff him all over, to see if any of the smells triggered a memory. However, she doubted very much he would appreciate her doing so, and she didn't think she would be able to focus on her task for very long without getting distracted. One thing she did know, however: he did not smell of Hawthorne Inks that night, likely because he had changed out of his work clothes into something more casual. She hoped this information would prove useful.

Draco felt awkward just sitting and watching the game. He felt he should be paying attention to Hermione, but she seemed content to sit in silence. At least, he thought so.

"It's … strange in here," she commented. "It's so quiet. Don't you think? There's no roaring crowd, and I can barely hear the announcer."

"You're right," he said. "If you want, I can let the sound in." When Hermione nodded, Draco pressed his wand into a small controller, and the noise from outside their box slowly increased. "Better?"

"Much!" she said, smiling. "Now it feels like we're really here again."

"Are you sure you want to stay?" Draco asked. "Really, I don't mind leaving."

"No!" Hermione insisted. "I'm having a great time. You know, other than nearly causing a scene while surrounded by thousands of rabid Quidditch fans."

"If you change your mind, let me know," he told her.

"I will," she assured him. "Besides, I'm actually enjoying the game."

Twenty minutes later, Draco glanced beside him to see that Hermione had fallen asleep. She had her head on the armrest at other end of the sofa, her body leaning sideways and her feet still on the floor.

He stood and lifted her legs onto the sofa, and she settled into a more comfortable position. Then he found a blanket, bright gold and blue with a giant golden Snitch in the middle, and covered her with it. Finally, he lowered the lights and the volume of the outside sounds and settled into a cushy recliner to watch the game.

**ooo**

The winner was determined two hours later at almost one in the morning. Draco had a difficult time staying awake for the entire thing when the box was so conducive to sleep, but he managed, thanks to the jolt potions periodically given to all the attendees. When England's Seeker caught the Snitch, ending the game at 520-460, he was more relieved than anything.

Draco shut the sound off completely and stood, stretching. Hermione hadn't moved since he'd covered her on the sofa, and he wasn't keen on waking her now. However, he doubted she would want to spend the night in the Quidditch stadium.

He went to her side and knelt on the floor, pausing to stare at her before waking her. She was beautiful, even with straight hair, and he didn't think he could ever tire of looking at her. Then he scoffed inwardly; he sounded like a love-sick puppy, and it was slightly nauseating.

"Hermione," he whispered, then rolled his eyes and said her name at a normal volume.

Slowly she opened her eyes and recognized him. She yawned. "Hey. What happened? Is it over?"

Draco smiled. "Yeah, it's over. England won."

"I feel like we just did this," she said, sitting up.

He laughed. "We basically did. Except this time you just fell asleep."

"What time is it?" Hermione asked, rubbing her eyes.

"About one."

"Merlin," she said, throwing the blanket off and standing up.

Draco followed her lead. "Are you ready to go, I presume?"

Hermione nodded, yawning again. "Yes."

Together they walked in silence toward the Floo stations. Halfway there, Hermione shivered, and Draco put his cloak around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said tiredly. "I think I left my cloak at your place."

There was a long queue at each of the fireplaces, so they waited a few yards away from everyone.

"What are we doing about tomorrow?" Draco asked her. "What time is dinner?"

"Oh, that's right!" Hermione exclaimed. "It completely slipped my mind. I usually Floo to the Burrow. If you want, you can come through to my room and we can go together from there."

"All right," he said. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "What are you doing with your day tomorrow?"

Hermione blinked, surprised by the question and remembering the detail she wouldn't be sharing with him. "Well, it's Saturday, which means breakfast with my parents. Oh, that's right, they want to have you over soon."

He nodded. "I remember. Next Saturday is good for me. The weekend after that I'll be in Paris."

"Paris?" she repeated, her eyes wide. She stood with her back resting lightly on the wall, facing the interior of the stadium.

"Won't you be, as well?" he asked, leaning nonchalantly on the wall, facing her. "For the opening of the Weasley shop?"

"Oh! That's in two weeks? I'd forgotten. I suppose I will be there," she said, her thoughts focused on how busy her life had been since agreeing to work with Draco.

He gave her an uneasy look. "I reckon we'll be there … together."

The way he said 'together' made her pause, and then she understood. At that point in their relationship, it would make sense for them to stay together while in Paris for the shop's opening. "We'll deal with that when we have to," she said, another yawn escaping her control.

"Good idea," Draco said, frowning.

"After breakfast with my parents I'm going to Hogsmeade," she continued after a few moments.

"Is it already time for the first trip?" Draco asked. "I can't believe it. Seems like last weekend we were sitting on an orange sofa, talking during another Quidditch game."

Hermione smiled. "I'm not on the chaperone list for this weekend, but Blaise and I are taking our fourth-years to the Shrieking Shack. We both think it's important for our houses, especially, to spend time with each other."

"Blaise?" he said.

"Yes, Blaise. He is head of Gryffindor, you remember."

"I wasn't aware that you two were friends." Draco pushed himself off the wall with his shoulder and casually shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Look, the queue is much shorter. Should we get in?" she asked.

"Reckon so," he said, and gently led her toward the Floo stations, his hand placed lightly on the small of her back. Once they were situated, he said, "You're avoiding the question."

"No I'm not," she protested. "And you didn't really ask a question. Blaise and I aren't really friends, but he's pleasant to talk to, and we both agree on the importance of destroying the typical house stereotypes."

Draco smirked and was about to respond when they were interrupted.

"Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger."

They both turned to the source of the voice, and Draco recognized the man with the camera who had been watching them during the first few hours of the match.

"How about a picture?" he said hopefully.

Draco looked to Hermione, expecting her to refuse. Instead, she nodded with a smile.

"Great, thanks," the man said, getting into position.

Hermione scooted closer to Draco, and he put his arm around her. The camera flashed, and then without thinking, Draco absently kissed the top of Hermione's forehead. The camera went off again, and he inwardly groaned.

"What did you think of the match, Mr. Malfoy?" the man asked, obviously pleased with his success that night.

"It was a good one. I'm glad England pulled it out in the end."

"Looks like they've got a good shot at the EuroCup this year."

Draco nodded.

"We're up, Draco," said Hermione.

They had finally reached the fireplace. The green flames were set to go continuously without the need for powder with every person. "Malfoy Manor," he called. The flames roared bright red for an instant before turning back to green. "After you."

When they'd arrived in the Traveling Room, Hermione returned the cloak to an amused Draco. "What's so funny?" she said, yawning again.

"You went through first," he said, leading her into the hall. He still hadn't connected the main fireplace to her room at Hogwarts, and he didn't have any plans to. "You didn't see the look on that man's face when we both traveled here. You would have thought he'd discovered gold, he was so excited."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

He smiled lazily. "Think about it. Why wouldn't you simply go home? Instead you came here."

"Oh! You're right!" Then she shrugged. "I suppose it's official, then."

"Let's hope there won't be any more talk of Charlie." Draco let her into his bedroom and walked her to the fireplace in his closet. "What are you doing after your play date with Blaise?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, swatting him playfully and glancing around for her cloak. "I suppose I'll return to the castle, have lunch, catch up on some reading until it's time to meet you. Molly likes us there by seven, so why don't you come by around six-thirty?"

"So early?" he teased. "I was thinking more along the lines of seven, seven-fifteen."

Hermione shook her head and checked her bag, yawning. "Here it is. I had it all the time. If I don't go, I'm going to pass out on your floor. See you at six-thirty, Draco. Goodnight."

"Night."

She disappeared into the flames with a small wave, and then he let out a huge sigh. What a night! So much had been packed into the evening that he would need time to digest it all.

Draco didn't dwell on much of that. All he thought about while drifting to sleep was the way Hermione had felt in his arms and the softness of her lips pressed against his. He hoped he'd need another reason to kiss her very soon.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading! And thank you for your patience. I know this chapter is late, and I hate that it had to be that way, but there it is. I was out of town over the weekend and wasn't able to post on Friday. I tried to post early, on Wednesday, but car issues got in the way of that. Thanks to everyone who messaged me! Hope you enjoyed this!

Chapter title taken from "The Adventure" by Angels and Airwaves.

Art: LiveJournal user marshy75. I just LOVE the way this piece was done!

Music: As always, indaze22! Who happens to be just about finished with her big story, "Broken." Check it out if you haven't already!


	17. Easy People

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Poll Update: **For four weeks, Caleb Matthews has been at the top! Will that change this week? Blaise takes up a new position in second place, followed by 'Harry, acting for Lucius.' New poll up for your voting pleasure! Eliminated this week: Robert Nott (Theo's brother) and Joel Goyle (Greg's father).

**Chapter 1****7 - - Easy People**

Hermione woke up just before the alarm was set to go off, instantly alert. It was one of those days where something huge and important was about to happen, something she was excited and nervous about at the same time. Somehow, it seemed her body just knew when it needed to be awake and complied. If only she could harness this instinct and make it work all the time.

She turned off the alarm and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Six-fifteen was early for a Saturday morning, especially after going to bed so late the night before. At least she had slept on the sofa in the stadium box; otherwise it would be near impossible to pull off her plan.

After quickly getting dressed and eating a solitary breakfast, Hermione walked outside the Hogwarts gates and waited, the little Eiffel Tower statue firmly clasped in her hand. The biggest task in preparing for her mission had been getting the International Transportation Authority to activate her Portkey again. Without Draco's clout, it took her much longer.

At precisely five after seven, she was pulled through space and deposited in the same alleyway in Paris she'd arrived in before. The bank had just opened, and she had two hours to gather the information she wanted before she was due at her parents' for breakfast.

Hermione had neglected to inform Draco of her plans to do exactly what he had told her not to do: get into the bank and speak to the employee they had seen retrieve the money in the Pensieve. Dressed as the woman who had opened the bank account earlier in the week so no one watching would recognize her, she was confident nothing bad would happen. Besides, she wouldn't use any heavy magic … Draco was just being ridiculous for not wanting her to even try.

Just before entering the bank lobby, Hermione cast a spell to speak and understand French, then marched directly to the window where she was pleasantly surprised to find the man she was seeking.

"Good morning," she said with a pleasant smile.

The man looked no older than twenty-five, with deliberately unkempt black hair and plain brown tie with a few specks of color in it. "Good morning, Madame," he returned automatically, glancing quickly at her.

"Oh, there's no Monsieur," she corrected flirtatiously. She needed to see his eyes to look for the telltale signs of the Imperius curse. "I didn't see you last time I was here," she said while filling out the withdrawal form. "Is this your first day?"

"No, Mademoiselle," he replied. "I've been here about two years."

"Really?" she said with feigned interest. "I'm sure I would have noticed you before."

He stumbled over his next words. It was apparent that he wasn't used to the overt attention. "It's true."

Hermione had very little experience with blatant flirting. She had most of the information she'd come for; all that remained was to determine if he was a wizard. Though she would try to accomplish it without magic, if her query proved evasive, she would simply cast a quick charm to detect a magical signature.

"I suppose this is just a temporary job while you work on bigger and better things," she said.

"No, this appears to be my career." He was focused on the computer screen, and still hadn't made eye contact with her. She was starting to panic, as her transaction was nearly complete.

Hermione peered at his nametag. "Frédéric. I really like your … tie. It's … very distinguished."

That got his attention. He slowly brought his gaze up to meet hers, his expression filled with shocked incredulity. Then he lifted the end of his tie and looked at it, and finally dragged his eyes back to her. "Er, thanks."

"Matches your eyes," she added in a rush, feeling ridiculous. Hermione smiled wanly, a sinking feeling in her gut. His eyes were plain brown, just like hers, just like his tie. However, they also had the slightly pearlescent sheen indicative of someone who is under the Imperius curse. It wasn't readily apparent unless the light hit the eyes at a certain angle, or if someone knew what to look for.

He mumbled something and finished entering the deposit into the computer.

As Hermione waited to sign for her withdrawal, she cast a nonverbal spell. '_Ostento_ _Venefici_.' It was a spell used to detect traces of magic on a person. Her wand would glow a different color for the different intensities the spell observed.

"Thank you," she said, her smile now merely polite. "Have a good day."

Frederic nodded and muttered goodbye.

Once she was safely back in the alley, Hermione removed her wand from its hiding place and checked the color. It was a deep blue, indicating very little magical signature. If there had been none, the wand would have glowed purple. She wasn't surprised at the color; the man was under a curse at all times. It did, however, confirm that he wasn't a wizard.

With a satisfied grin, Hermione checked her watch and groaned. Eighty minutes remained before the Portkey would activate—she had set it for the maximum time possible in order to ensure that she had enough time to complete her mission. She had no way of knowing if Frederic worked in the front or the back, and had to be prepared for all possibilities.

"Might as well make the most of my time," she muttered to herself, thinking about a journal she had brought as she headed for a café across the street.

**ooo**

Hermione was exhausted when she arrived at Hogsmeade ten minutes before she was supposed to meet Blaise and their students. After she left Paris, she had gone straight to her parents' house for breakfast. It was a wonderful time, as usual, but they both asked about her sleeping habits, as she kept yawning. She had explained about the late date with Draco, and that had seemed to pacify them. She had then been forced to cut their time short in order to make it to Hogsmeade on time.

Blaise was waiting for her outside the _Three Broomsticks_, talking to a few of the gathered Gryffindors. Hermione was pleased to see that all of her students were present as well.

"Good morning, Professor Zabini," she said.

"Professor Granger," he said with a slight nod. Then he frowned and lowered his voice. "You all right?"

"Just tired," she explained, trying but failing to stifle a yawn.

Blaise gave her a strained smile. "Ah. I believe Harry mentioned that you were going out last night. Get in late?"

His tone was slightly suggestive, which surprised Hermione. "Well, yes," she said, feeling strangely defensive. "The Quidditch game didn't end until after one in the morning."

He smirked. "I see. Well, as everyone is here, I suggest we begin our little adventure."

Hermione agreed, and together they followed their students to the Shrieking Shack.

"Who won?" Blaise asked when they were halfway there.

"England," she replied.

Blaise scoffed. "I'm sure it was quite the sacrifice for Draco to take you to a Quidditch game."

She didn't know why Blaise sounded so bitter, but again felt very defensive. "It was my idea, actually," she assured him haughtily. "He simply works too much and needed the night out."

Genuine surprise flitted across his face, though she didn't know if it was from her defense of her supposed-boyfriend or the fact that the game had been her choice.

"Lucky him," Blaise muttered darkly.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Blaise?" Hermione demanded, grabbing his arm and stopping him.

He seemed to seriously consider her question before shrugging out of her grasp and continuing toward the Shack. "Course not. What's to tell? Let's go, don't want to be here all day."

Hermione frowned but followed him, neither of them speaking until they'd reached their destination. She glanced at Blaise and saw that he seemed uninterested in leading the discussion. "Well, here we are," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. The students stopped their chattering and fell quiet. "Who wants to tell us what you've heard about this place?"

A few arms shot into the air, and she called on a boy in Gryffindor.

"It's haunted," he said boldly. "Has been for over a hundred years."

Hermione smiled and called on the next raised hand.

"A coven of banshees live there," the Slytherin girl said. "They sleep all day and at night, make horrible wailing sounds. I heard they were upset because their children had been stolen from them."

"I hadn't heard that one," Hermione confessed, amused. "What can you tell me about the scream of a banshee?"

Another Gryffindor raised his hand and he spoke when Hermione called on him. "It can kill."

"I said horrible wailing," the Slytherin girl pointed out. "Not screaming. Otherwise, all the people who live here would have died a long time ago."

"Excellent point," Hermione said. "Anyone else?"

A boy from Slytherin, the class trouble maker, raised his hand. He reminded Hermione very much of Draco at that age, cocky and arrogant. "I heard it's where Hagrid goes to mate with that half-giant witch of his."

Most of the students laughed, and Hermione was annoyed to see Blaise struggling to keep a straight face.

"Ten points from Slytherin," she snapped, turning her most frightening glare on the boy. "Your professors, _all_ of them, deserve your respect, whether you're in their class at the moment or not. Now," she said, addressing everyone else. "Anyone else?"

When no one raised their hand, Hermione began. "Do you want to know the truth of this Shack?" she asked.

The students all nodded eagerly.

"This shack was actually built in 1971—thirty-three years ago—specifically for a student who would be attending Hogwarts that fall." She paused, her chest constricting briefly at the thought of her former professor and friend. "That student was a werewolf."

Half of the class gasped in surprise, and Blaise cocked his head toward her in newfound interest.

"The boy was afraid that he wouldn't be allowed to attend Hogwarts and learn magic, even though he was a wizard. I know Professor Potter has taught you about werewolves, so why do you think this boy was afraid?"

A Gryffindor boy raised his hand. "The boy would turn into a werewolf every month. It's supposed to be very painful, and some people don't like werewolves."

Hermione smiled. "You're exactly right. And not only that, but werewolves are dangerous during the full moon. They don't have complete control over their abilities at first and could hurt someone. Even another student."

"What did they do?" another Gryffindor asked.

"As you can probably imagine, this little boy wanted very much to come to Hogwarts, so the Headmaster at the time made some special arrangements in order to allow this boy to go to school."

All the children were silent, raptly waiting for Hermione to reveal the solution.

She smiled. "There were once secret tunnels leading from the castle to various places." There still were, but she didn't want to encourage anyone to find them. "One of them was dug specifically for this student. At one end, is the Whomping Willow. The tunnel ends here, at the Shrieking Shack."

A few students gasped.

"Every month, when the boy was supposed to transform, he would be taken to the Whomping Willow and sent through the tunnel. Once he arrived in the Shack, he transformed." Hermione paused. "As you know, it's a painful process, and werewolves are notoriously prone to destruction. And that is how the Shrieking Shack became 'haunted.'"

A chorus of 'wows' went up, and Hermione clasped her hands. "Any questions?"

Half a dozen hands went up, and another half dozen spoke out without being called on. She chose to answer the question, "Who was the boy?"

Hermione hesitated and glanced at Blaise. He was watching her carefully. Remus' story wasn't hers to tell, but at the same time, he wasn't around to tell it. If even one person was positively influenced by Remus' tale, then it would be what he would have wanted.

"I'm sure you've all heard his name," she said. "He was a war hero, and he even taught at Hogwarts for a year."

"Lupin?" asked Blaise incredulously.

She smiled at him and nodded, then addressed the children. "Remus Lupin. Are you familiar with that name?" They all nodded. "He was a very good man, an excellent teacher, and a dear friend. He was also a werewolf. Any questions?"

When no one raised a hand, Hermione looked to Blaise. He took the hint and motioned for them to follow him closer to the shack.

Hermione remained where she was, and after Blaise had finished the short tour, he joined her.

"I didn't know all that about Lupin," he said, leaning against the rickety fence that surrounded the land around the shack. "He wasn't a bad teacher."

"He was excellent," said Hermione. "I think it's awful the way he was treated by the wizarding world. Even now, werewolves are ignored at best. They can't get decent jobs, and when they do manage to find work, they aren't paid as much as others. It's completely unfair, it's not as though they _wanted_ to be bitten and turned into a magical creature."

Blaise gave her a half-smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey, you don't have to convince me."

"No?" She couldn't disguise the surprise in her voice.

He chuckled. "No. Very few people know this, but my mum's brother is a werewolf. Back home, they're a bit more understanding. They don't live amongst wizards, preferring to live in packs, but they get along with others just fine."

"Do they work?" Hermione asked.

Blaise shrugged. "Most of them do, yes. They lead almost completely … normal—for lack of a better term—lives."

"That's fascinating," said Hermione. "Where is home?"

"Africa," he replied, staring wistfully into space.

"Do you miss it?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

He nodded. "I lived there the first four years of my life, and I've only been back a few times since. There's something about it, something that gets into the heart and blood and never lets go."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. After a few minutes of watching the kids play, she said, "I think I'll head back. I'm getting rather hungry."

"I'll walk with you," Blaise said, falling into step beside her.

"I've read quite a few articles published out of Africa," Hermione remarked. "There are some unique plants and herbs there, things the indigenous people have known about for millennia."

"So I've heard. One of my step-brothers was recently hired by a research firm in Botswana."

They talked about African herbs until they reached the main street in Hogsmeade, and they stopped outside the _Three Broomsticks_.

"Thank you for doing this with me, Hermione," Blaise said, his dark eyes smiling.

"You are welcome. We should make it a yearly tradition."

He chuckled. "I doubt the story will remain much of a secret to tell, though."

"Oh, you're right!" she said. "It was fun, though. I hope it makes some impact on the way this generation treats other magical beings."

Blaise nodded absently. "Do you have any lunch plans?" he asked, then something over Hermione's shoulder caught his attention, and he scowled briefly before muttering, "Never mind."

Hermione turned slightly and saw Draco making his way toward them. He was sharply dressed in a charcoal grey suit, lavender shirt, and shiny black shoes. She smiled without thinking, and when he saw it, he returned a lop-sided one.

"Blaise," he said, nodding at his former classmate and slipping an arm around Hermione's waist.

"Draco." His tone was clipped. "Hermione, I'll see you around." Without waiting for a response from either of them, he left.

Hermione was puzzled by the exchange, but didn't say anything. "What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling slightly out of his grasp.

"I've got to stop in and see George in a couple of hours. I knew you'd be here, so I came early in the hopes you'd be free for lunch," he replied.

"I happen to be free," she informed him. She was about to suggest the _Three Broomsticks_ when she remembered her adventure that morning. "Let's not eat right now." She grabbed his hand and pulled him in another direction. "There's something I want to discuss first."

Draco followed, curious. "All right." He studied her closely as they walked toward the edge of town, stopping in a secluded area. Her expression was apprehensive and excited at the same time. An unsettled feeling coiled in the pit of his stomach.

Hermione released his hand and leaned against a tree. "I … I went back to the bank this morning."

Draco's hesitant smile faded, quickly replaced with anger. He folded his arms. "I thought we agreed that wasn't going to happen."

"No," she corrected. "_You_ decided that. I never agreed."

He shook his head, at a loss for what to say. There was no point in arguing about what she had done; it was done. "Well, what did you find out?"

Relieved that he wasn't going to scold her, Hermione exhaled. "The employee in question is named Frederic. He's been at the bank for nearly two years, he is definitely a Muggle and is most assuredly under the Imperius."

Draco let the words sink in and his anger flashed again. "He's under the Imperius, which means whoever is behind this is most certainly into Dark Arts and a Death Eater. Hermione, did it ever occur to you that he might be there? Watching the bloke?"

"No, it hadn't," she admitted. "But I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself! I've faced Death Eaters before."

"That's beside the point," said Draco gruffly. "I have no doubt you can fend for yourself, but—"

"Then what's the big deal, Draco?" she asked, crossing her arms. It occurred to her then that to the casual observer, it would appear the couple was fighting. However, she was too upset at the moment to care about appearances, and anyway, they were bound to have the occasional disagreement.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated that she refused to comply with his wishes. She had always been headstrong, or so he had heard, but he had never been the one butting up against her stubborn streak before, and he wasn't sure how to make her see his side. So, he tried the truth.

"Please, listen to me, Hermione. This is serious." When he had her full attention, he continued. "I don't want you risking your life for this. That's not why I sought your help."

She considered his words, the sincere and pleading expression on his face, the way his eyes were terrified and grave. He was truly concerned about her safety, worried that she would be careless and get herself hurt or even killed. Hermione was touched.

"I promise I won't do anything without discussing it with your first," she said.

He exhaled in obvious relief, a hint of a smile edging the corner of his mouth. "And we'll agree on whatever we do."

Hermione glanced away for an instant. "I can't promise that."

Draco frowned. He looked ready to argue, but then he sighed. "But we'll talk first. That'll give me a chance to come up with an alternative, in case you want to go dashing headlong into danger."

"It's not that I want to be in dangerous situations, Draco," she explained. "We just don't always agree about what is or isn't dangerous."

"Dealing with Death Eaters is _always_ dangerous, no matter how many you've faced before. When dealing with this … person, you must always assume he is everywhere. You've got to think like them, Hermione." He paused, frowning. "The more devoted the Death Eater, the more sinister and twisted his mind. You didn't even consider the possibility that he could be watching the bank this morning."

"I was in costume, the same one I wore earlier, when I opened the account," she countered. "He wouldn't have recognized me."

"How did you determine that Frederic wasn't a wizard?" Draco asked.

She winced; he had her there. "A spell."

"Magic," Draco said firmly. "If you'll recall, the blackmailer specifically requires that no magic be done on the money, or even in the vicinity of the bank. What makes you think he isn't somehow tracking magical activity?"

"Draco," she said calmly. "I understand your point. I won't be so reckless in the future. I promise."

"Good," he said, more sharply than he'd intended.

He sighed, knowing this was the best he would probably get from her. The fact that she wasn't as careful about watching out for herself as he would like her to be only made him feel doubly protective of her. Which she would hate. If only he could convince her to look at every situation from all possible angles, then at least he would trust that she had thought of everything before doing something risky.

"That settled, I suppose it's something of a relief to know just what kind of person we're dealing with," he said.

Hermione relaxed her stance. "A Death Eater."

"The good news is that there aren't too many of them out there." Draco too relaxed, tucking his hands inside his jacket pockets. "The bad news is, they're rather difficult to track down."

"That's true," she said. Her stomach rumbled. "I'm hungry. Shall we eat?"

"All right." Draco smiled and held his hand out.

Hermione took it, and suddenly felt out of place beside him as they walked back to the pub. He was impeccably dressed, while she was in basic school robes. Three steps from the front door, she blurted, "You look great." At his stunned expression, she added, "By the way."

With an amused frown, Draco opened the door, motioning her to enter before him. He waited until they were seated to address her strange outburst. "That was … odd. Thank you, I suppose."

Her shoulders slumped. "We don't look as though we belong together. There's you …" –she indicated his attire— "and there's me."

"Two butterbeers, please," he said to the waitress without taking his eyes off Hermione. When the waitress was gone, he spoke again. "You're joking, right?"

"No, I wouldn't joke about something like this," she said, perusing the menu and scolding her cheeks for reddening under his intense gaze.

"Hermione, if you're fishing again, it won't work." He leaned back, smirking.

She glanced up and scowled at him. "I most certainly am not fishing, Draco." Returning to the menu, she said airily, "Merely stating an observation."

Draco was silent for a few moments, then reached over and pulled the menu away. "Don't be ridiculous, Hermione, please. It doesn't suit you. You already know I think you're beautiful, and you should know by now that I don't care what other people think." He chuckled. "Honestly, do you think the biggest obstacle you and I have to overcome is how we _look_ together?"

Hermione smiled sheepishly. He had a point. "I know all of that, but then sometimes when I see you, it just hits me. It won't happen again."

Draco gazed unfocusedly at a spot on the booth beside Hermione while she selected her choice for lunch. By this point, he had effectively exhausted his internal list of adjectives for describing how she looked and made him feel. She had taken his breath away from the moment he saw her at the Quidditch pitch, and he had yet to get it back. To make matters worse, he was slowly but surely falling hard for her, yet she had Charlie Weasley waiting in the wings for whenever this … association ended.

He mentally shook himself, remembering yet again that he had sworn not to get involved with anyone until he was out from under the crippling weight that was his life at present. Once he was no longer in charge, and the blackmailer had been discovered and exposed, then he could think about getting on with his life. If only he could convince his heartstrings to play along.

"How did your thing with Blaise go?" Draco asked, remembering the sharp twinge of jealousy he had felt upon finding the two together.

"Fine," she said. "Your greeting was rather strange."

"Was it?" he asked, his expression amused, his eyes knowing.

"Yes. Why is that?"

He shrugged. "It was perfectly ordinary, I assure you."

Hermione yawned, the effects of her lack of sleep finally catching up with her. "How did you sleep?" she asked.

Their food arrived then, and they both tucked in.

"Superbly," he answered after a few moments. "I don't even remember crawling under the covers. You seem tired, though."

"I am," she admitted. "I was in Paris first thing."

"Ah," he lilted. "Of course."

Hermione continued. "Then I had breakfast with my parents—we're definitely on for next week, by the way."

"All right, what time?" he asked.

"I usually arrive at nine," she explained. "Why don't you come through at, say, ten 'til?"

"Sounds good," he agreed.

"One thing is for sure," she said, unable to stop another yawn. "I am looking forward to a nap before tonight!"

They finished their meal, chatting easily. Draco asked about her research, and she wanted to know more about his business. When it came time to pay, Hermione asked that she be allowed.

"It's only fair," she insisted, giving the waitress a handful of Galleons, ignoring Draco's protests. "This is a relationship, and relationships are about give and take."

He accepted, not wanting to make a scene, but once they were outside he said, "This isn't a real relationship, Hermione. You are helping me, and I feel it's my responsibility to take care of the expenses."

Hermione shrugged him off. "It's all for appearances, Draco. You'll come across quite the gentleman for letting me pay."

"Fine, but just this once," he said, glancing at his watch. "I've got to go, though I'd rather walk you to the castle."

She smiled. "Thank you. If I didn't know better, I would think you actually like spending time with me."

Draco held her gaze, neither confirming nor denying her playful comment at first. Eventually, she faltered and bit her lip. Draco shook his head. "You're unbelievable. If it's not blindingly obvious that I enjoy your company, then you don't deserve the unofficial title you were given in school."

Hermione started, gaping at him for an instant before recovering. "Likewise." She felt incredibly awkward saying it, as though they were fourteen and admitting they fancied each other.

Untold seconds ticked off the clock as they avoided looking at each other. Finally Draco said, "I'm off, then. See you later."

"Right," she rushed, smiling widely. "Later." Hermione turned and started walking in the direction of Hogwarts, hoping that Draco wasn't watching her. Before long, she heard the _pop_! of Disapparation and let out a flustered breath, slowing her pace to a more leisurely one.

She tried to focus on some aspect of her research, but her thoughts kept drifting to Draco, to his comment, and much to her consternation, his lips. Her morning had been so hectic that she'd completely forgotten that he had kissed her the night before, twice, the second one completely rendering her breathless and light-headed. Merlin, his lips! Simply put, they were perfect. And the way he moved them, like the most exquisite torture imaginable: demanding, yielding, supple, but never ever enough.

**ooo**

Hermione was ready at six-fifteen after a much needed nap. She had worried that thoughts of Draco would prevent her from falling asleep, but they hadn't, and she'd fallen asleep within minutes of getting into bed. Now, as she waited, Draco's comment didn't seem so ridiculous. On numerous occasions he had shown that he liked talking to her beyond the requirements for their pseudo-relationship, she had just never thought of it in terms of him enjoying her presence. As though it was her and not just her conversation.

Draco was slightly early, arriving five minutes before six-thirty. "Hey," he said as he dusted himself off.

"Hi." She pulled her cloak on. "Ready?"

"In a minute," he said. "I, er, have something for you."

Hermione blinked, her stomach swooping.

"Don't worry, it's nothing …. Well, here." He handed her a small metal box and a file folder. "I read an article awhile ago, when I was researching for, um, you, that talked about the possible benefits of volcanic ash on traumatic flashbacks. Greg was in Fiji recently, doing something for me, and while he was there, I had him collect some samples. I'm giving them to you along with the analysis of each."

She stared at the box and folder in her hand, an indescribable feeling coursing through her.

"One of them, I labeled it '4,' shows the most promise."

Slowly, Hermione shook her head. "Draco, I … I don't know what to say."

He scoffed. "It's some dirt, Hermione."

"It's more than that, and you know it," she reprimanded, carefully setting the items on her desk. She was torn between hugging him and ripping into the folder, and ended up doing neither. "Thank you, though it's not enough to adequately express what this means to me."

Draco's cheeks grew pink and he waved her off. "It was nothing. You're welcome. I hope it helps."

"Me too," she said, and as she moved toward the fireplace, Hermione did something impulsive. She grabbed his arms, bounced onto her tiptoes, and kissed Draco on the cheek. Immediately, she felt her cheeks burn, and threw a fresh handful of powder into the fireplace.

"Ready?" she asked, stepping into the fireplace.

"As ready as I could possibly be for what I'm about to do," he said resignedly, joining her.

Hermione started to toss the powder, but stopped. "There's one thing I want to ask of you," she said, realizing she should have spoken before he'd climbed into the cramped fireplace. They were facing each other, standing very close, and when Hermione inhaled, her senses were pervaded by his scent.

"What's that?" he asked, drawing her attention once more to his lips.

Forcing herself to think clearly, she said, "Please don't say anything about Ron's home. It's truly a wonderful, magical place if you'll give it a chance."

Draco chuckled, low and resonant in the confined space. "I'm not a kid anymore. I will be on my best behavior."

"Good. The Burrow!" she said, tossing the powder before his essence overwhelmed her.

As soon as they landed, someone was talking to them.

"Oh, good!" said Molly, appearing beside the fireplace. "You're here!"

Hermione exited the fireplace, followed by Draco. "Hello, Molly," she said happily.

"Welcome, my dear," Molly said, hugging her. "Lovely to see you again!" She released her and was joined by her husband.

"Hello, Draco," he said, extending a hand.

"Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley," he returned, greeting them in turn. Then he produced a bottle of wine and presented it to Molly. "For the hostess. Thank you for having me in your home."

"Oh, Draco!" Molly exclaimed, examining the bottle. "This looks wonderful, thank you!"

Hermione was smiling and unable to stop herself, feeling almost … proud of Draco.

"Hermione, we're eating inside today," said Molly, giving the wine to Arthur. "Victoire is sick and Bill and Fleur stayed home with her."

"All right," she said, glancing around the strangely quiet room. "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, they're all outside, dear." Molly beamed and returned to the kitchen.

Hermione turned to Draco. "Well, here we go," she said, giving him an encouraging smile.

He took her hand. "Let's go."

When they were out of the house, Hermione quickly heard the sounds of her friends and led Draco toward them. Harry was the first to spot them.

"Hermione's here!" He waved.

Draco took a deep breath and entered the uncharted waters that were Hermione's friends.

**ooo**

Five hours later, Hermione was reclining on an outdoor sofa with Ginny leaning on her shoulder, fast asleep. Harry, Ron, George, and Draco were all sitting on the porch steps, drinking and talking.

Hermione smiled sleepily at the men, beyond thrilled that the evening had gone so well. Draco and George sat with their backs to her, and she could see Harry and Ron's faces.

"I'm still trying to deal with the fact that you thought Hannah Abbott was shaggable, Ron," said Harry, shaking his head.

"What about Greengrass?" Ron offered. "She was fanciable in school, and I saw her the other day. Downright bombshell, if you ask me." He looked to Draco for approval.

"Nice, Ronald," said George, snickering.

Harry rolled his eyes. "When will you stop going on about Greengrass?"

"Once he's shagged her and had his fill," said George.

"Hear, hear!" said Harry, and he and George tapped their bottles.

Ron still stared intently at Draco. "Well? Can you arrange for me to, you know, meet her? You know her, right?"

Draco shrugged. "I know her, I see her now and then. We're not exactly friends, Weasley, but I'm not inclined to introduce you just so you can get her into bed."

Ron groaned, frustrated. "But Malfoy, did you really get a good look at her? Those knockers can't be natural."

George interrupted his brother by shoving his head rather forcefully. "Don't be a git, Ron," he said quietly. "Hermione can hear you."

"Yes, she can," Hermione chimed.

"Sorry, Hermione," said Ron.

She gave him a small, amused smile. Draco glanced at her over his shoulder and winked. Hermione raised an eyebrow and he waggled his, making her laugh.

When he turned back to the others, he said, "I believe I heard somewhere that she had enhancements done. However, on the few occasions I encountered her, I didn't noticed."

Ron scoffed. "How could you not? Besides, even if you had, you wouldn't admit to it with your girlfriend listening in."

Hermione couldn't help the smile that sprang onto her face. Hearing Ron, of all people, call her Draco's girlfriend suddenly made things feel very real—even though they weren't. If they had been, this would have been the point where her feelings for Draco would have felt … justified. Her friends respected her enough to make her own decisions, and they had been open enough to consider Draco.

Granted, Ron had been cold toward him from the beginning, but tonight that had changed. As the meal and conversation progressed, Ron sent Draco fewer and fewer glares, until finally he'd laughed at one of Draco's jokes. When Hermione had cornered her friend about his acceptance of Draco, he had grudgingly admitted that his once former rival seemed 'decent enough.'

Hermione suspected that it was having Draco at the Burrow, perfectly at ease, talking easily with his family, that had swayed Ron's opinion at last. The Weasley's financial status—rather, Draco's once constant practice of belittling Ron for it—had been the one thing still keeping Ron from accepting even a tentative truce. Now that Draco had gone an entire evening without making one remark, one snide comment, or even giving something a funny look, Ron could start to believe that Draco wasn't the spoiled brat he once was.

Lost in her thoughts, Hermione missed Draco's response, and she muttered a curse under her breath.

"He said he hasn't noticed anyone else since you reappeared in his life," said Ginny sleepily, as though reading Hermione's thoughts. "Ron made a very mature gagging sound, for which George smacked him again." Then she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Really?" Hermione said, her heart racing and her stomach sinking. If only it could be true!

"Mmm," Ginny replied, nodding. "I never thought I would say this, but … I like him. And I think he's crazy about you."

Slight movement caught her eye, and Hermione saw Draco turn his head slightly, as though trying to hear what they were saying. She couldn't be sure; he may simply have been getting more comfortable. Instead of responding, she sighed. "It's late."

Ginny sounded more awake when she spoke. "Oh no, you can't avoid talking to me again. You owe me, you know. Don't think I've forgotten that you still haven't described, in detail, the s—"

"Ginny!" she interrupted. To her horror, she saw Draco's shoulders shaking slightly and realized he was laughing. "Just for that, you'll have to wait a little longer," she said indignantly.

"Not fair, and you know it," said Ginny, giving her a stern look.

The men laughed then, drawing Hermione and Ginny's attention. Draco stood, finished his beer, and said, "On that note, gentlemen, I beg your leave."

"Who talks like that?" Ron asked, shaking his head and polishing off his own drink.

Draco climbed the few steps to the porch and his gaze fell on Hermione. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," she said, yawning. "We should say goodbye to Arthur and Molly."

Ten minutes later, they were finally inching closer to the fireplace. Molly had again thanked Draco for the wine, and both she and Arthur had welcomed him back any time. Ron had insisted that Draco come out for Quidditch some night, and he had agreed easily, making Hermione smile again.

When it seemed Hermione and Ginny were about to get into a drawn-out discussion about which jumper Ginny should wear on one of her rare married-persons date with Harry the next night, Draco gently took her by the waist and pulled her into the fireplace. They bid everyone goodnight, and to Hermione's surprise, Draco announced their destination as Malfoy Manor.

They arrived in the Traveling Room. As Draco hung his cloak, he explained, "I thought it made more sense than going to Hogwarts."

"Sure," she said.

"Your rooms at Hogwarts, while nice, I'm sure …. It makes more sense that we'd spend most of our time here," he said as they left the room, heading for his bedroom and the fireplace Hermione could use to return to Hogwarts. Then he smirked knowingly at her. "Besides, your friends already think we're sleeping together. What exactly have you and Ginny been discussing?"

"Absolutely nothing," she said, shoving him lightly. "There's nothing to talk about."

"She doesn't know that," Draco said, amusement evidence in his voice.

"I know," she mumbled. "I was rather hoping I would never have that conversation with Ginny."

Draco considered her statement for a moment, confused, before understanding. "Oh, right. When we break up."

She didn't say anything, just nodded. They arrived at Draco's room and he let them in. They hadn't talked about the inevitable 'break-up,' and though she knew they would have to at some point, the idea of it was something she preferred not to consider.

"Thank you, for tonight. It went really well," Hermione said, going into the closet-room.

"It did," he said, surprise in his voice. "Weasley seems to have forgiven me, or whatever he needed to do."

She smiled. "I know. Hadn't expected that, but I'm glad. So what happens now?"

Draco mussed his hair and gave her an indescribable look. Not quite frustrated, but not perfectly at ease, either. "There's breakfast with your parents Saturday," he started. "Then dinner with Pansy that night."

"I meant with our task," she said, chuckling softly. At his sheepish grin, she added, "We're spending more time on this … 'relationship' than on uncovering the blackmailer."

He frowned and sighed. "I've got a very busy couple of weeks, full of meeting after boring meeting. The entire week after next, I'll be in Paris—"

"A week? Why?" she blurted, feeling strangely anxious at the thought of him being so far away for a whole week. "I thought George's shop opened Friday."

"It does. I'm required to be in Paris for a couple of administrative tasks related to the Weasley's shop," he replied.

She nodded. "Oh. All right. Speaking of Friday, I was able to get the day off, so I'll be there for the opening festivities. I can't imagine you'll be doing Weasley's Wizard Wheezes business all week, though."

He shrugged, fidgeting with the box of Floo powder on the mantle. "There are some people I should see—investors, partners, important clients—so it seemed like a good time to get that all out of the way."

"I see." It still managed to surprise her that Draco was a successful businessman who ran a highly profitable organization that spanned continents and crossed the line between wizards and Muggle.

"I'll be renting a penthouse for the week," he continued, finally dragging his eyes to meet hers. "It will be ready when you join me."

Of course. They had briefly discussed that she would be accompanying him to the opening and the party that would follow. "The blackmailer?" she asked, needing to turn the conversation in another direction.

"I will look through the cards at my first opportunity and remove everyone who isn't a Death Eater," Draco said, glancing at the box on the coffee table. "Beyond that … I'll contact you."

"All right," she said, yawning. "Have a good week, Draco."

"You too, Hermione."

**ooo**

**End** **Notes**: Thank you so much for reading! Chapter title taken from "Easy People" by The Nields. Beta thanks go to drcjsnider & pokeystar! And check out the art for this week, it's by kalina_blue. Music, as always, by inadaze22. This week's summary might prove interesting to some of you ....

I have a special treat for you this week. Sometimes when writing, the characters start going in a direction I'm not ready for yet, and while writing this chapter, that was certainly the case. There were lines I simply couldn't ignore because they're so very Draco. So I'm giving you the clipped piece as well.

This deleted piece comes near the end, when they're talking about the break-up. Enjoy!

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Draco considered her statement for a moment, confused, before understanding. "Oh, right. When we break up."

She didn't say anything, just nodded. They arrived at Draco's room and he let them in. They hadn't talked about the inevitable 'break-up,' and though she knew they would have to at some point, the idea of it was something she preferred not to consider.

"I suppose then I could always blame that for why we ended things," she said with a sigh.

Draco froze in the act of picking up his room. "What?"

"We haven't discussed our eventual falling-out. Our incompatibility in bed could be a plausible cause."

He chuckled humorlessly and returned to his task. "Except that no one would believe it."

She crossed her arms. "Why not?"

A smirk spread across his lips and he slowly dragged his gaze to meet hers. "Seriously? Because it would be fantastic. Best bloody shag of your life."

"Is that so?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Guarantee it," he said confidently.

"Prove it."

He grinned. "With pleasure."


	18. An Island to Discover

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Poll Update: **We have a new lead suspect! For four weeks, Caleb Matthews has been at the top, but after the last chapter, Blaise Zabini thundered to the top of the list. Caleb remains a distant second, followed by 'Harry, acting for Lucius.' New poll up for your voting pleasure! Eliminated this week: Pansy Parkinson and Astoria Greengrass. There will be a poll for only two more chapters.

**Chapter 18**** - - An Island to Discover**

Monday morning found Hermione unable to stop smiling. She had received an unexpected visit the day before from Ginny, who had told her that the entire Weasley family was quite happy about Draco and the way things had gone. Ron, especially, had enjoyed his company.

The conversation had put her in a good mood, and it seemed nothing could dash it. Things were going better than Hermione could have imagined, even in her wildest dreams. She and Draco were getting close to the blackmailer as well as closer to each other than ever before. The only thought that dampened Hermione's mood was remembering that her relationship with Draco wasn't real. She had to constantly repeat it now in order to not forget it.

As had become her habit, Samaya entered the Arithmancy classroom early with the most recent issue of _Witch Weekly_ in hand. Looking quite pleased with herself, she presented it to Hermione.

"Looks like you and my cousin are doing well," she said happily.

Hermione anxiously accepted the magazine, gasping at the cover picture. It was of their second kiss, the incredibly amazing and heart-stopping one, at the Quidditch game. Over and over it played, sending her heart pounding afresh as though she were reliving it. His casual manner, his perfect lips, the way he wasn't quite sure what to do with his hand and finally lightly cupped her face …. He was endearing.

"That," said Samaya, stabbing the picture for emphasis, "is what people have been waiting for. Nicely done, Professor."

Hermione's cheeks burned, but not entirely from embarrassment. The mantra she'd been repeating in her mind had completely died, and she felt a delicious swooping in her belly.

"It was an enjoyable game," she said, flipping to the article and accompanying pictures. Quite a few of them in the stands, one of their first kiss, and then finally the one the photographer had taken after the match. She felt ridiculous at the way her stomach fluttered at the image, but no mere crush had ever caused such a reaction in her.

Then she gasped, slowly setting the publication on her desk. Was it possible? Could this be more than a crush? Bugger! When had that happened?

Yes, she had acknowledged that she cared for him, fancied him even, but somewhere along the way, her feelings had deepened. To what extent, she wasn't ready to explore. She wasn't in love with him, that much she knew. While her feelings for Draco certainly danced around the L-word, she knew her heart still wasn't fully hers to give away.

Or … was it? Hermione wasn't sure if she was ready for such a reality. After waiting for Charlie for so many years, it felt strange to consider her life, her future, without him. Strange, but not exactly … bad. In fact, the more she replaced his face with Draco's, the righter it felt.

Hermione shook her head. It simply wouldn't do to dwell on such things. At least she wouldn't have to see Draco for a long while, as he was in Paris for business. It would give her time to try and talk herself out of blatantly falling for him. No good could come from that.

"You all right?" Samaya asked.

"Oh, yes," she said, "I just … remembered something I was supposed to tell Professor Potter."

More students arrived then, and Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see Evan and Sheetal enter and then sit together. The fact that they'd gone together to Hogsmeade that weekend had completely slipped her mind.

Once everyone was settled, Hermione began class.

**O****oo**

Draco had been pointedly avoiding the box of cards on his coffee table ever since Hermione left Saturday night. He was certainly anxious to solve the mystery, but once he culled, there wouldn't be many left. And he wouldn't like any of the names that remained.

It was Tuesday night, and he couldn't put off the task any longer. The remaining nights of the week were dedicated to other things; this was his last chance before he saw Hermione again. He sat down on the sofa with a bottle of scotch, ready to begin the unpleasant task.

At the beginning of the final battle, Voldemort had roughly two hundred Death Eaters on his side, as well as numerous people under the Imperius and other magical beings who were also serving him.

Of those two hundred, roughly thirty had been killed and one hundred twenty captured. About eighty of that number remained in prison. The other forty had gotten off somehow or, like Lucius, had been released, and Draco couldn't discount all of them. Fifty Death Eaters had escaped the Ministry immediately after the war, but in the seven years since, all but twenty had been apprehended. These twenty, however, were the smartest of the bunch, and weren't likely to be taken in any time soon. All in all, there were forty-seven Death Eaters at the top of his list.

As Draco sorted through the cards, he considered each one carefully. Though his family had once been high in Voldemort's ranks, they were no longer considered 'faithful.' Once word of Narcissa's actions—and Lucius' inaction—got out, they were shunned by the shunned. The only two Death Eaters he could possibly hope to contact were his uncles, and they were both quite mad.

Once the task was done and half the bottle drunk, Draco sighed heavily, slouching on the sofa. Determining which of the Death Eaters was the blackmailer would be the hardest part by far. Perhaps they could start with the curse on the letters. If they could figure out which books mentioned it, they could track down those books.

Draco groaned in frustration. That option didn't seem feasible. He doubted the blackmailer walked into a library and checked out the book. It was probably something tucked away in the dark corners of a personal collection, one that had belonged to the blackmailer's family for generations.

Perhaps the answer lay in the fact that he was required to deposit the money in a Parisian bank, that Paris was the place to look for the blackmailer. It made sense that the blackmailer—also a Death Eater—would leave England to hide.

However, Draco didn't know what he and Hermione could do beyond what they'd already tried. He had watched the bank from the outside a time or two over the years, and Hermione had watched it from the inside. Then, thanks to Hermione's stealth and quick-thinking, they'd watched the very room where the money was deposited from every angle possible.

And still nothing!

Draco sighed and put the cards back on the table. He was getting nowhere, and his time could be better spent elsewhere. At least he had done as he'd said he would and sorted through the cards. Going through them again with Hermione would be more productive and more enjoyable, too.

**O****oo**

At a few minutes before three the following day, Caleb popped his head into Draco's office.

"The Weasleys are here," he announced.

Draco glanced up from the report he was reading. "Thank you. I'll join them in the conference room shortly."

Caleb left to set up for the meeting.

When Draco had finished his cup of tea, he collected the file folder labeled 'WWW' and exited his office. The conference room was at the opposite end of the hallway, the first door on the right after passing the front desk.

The meeting with George and Ron was their last before the opening in Paris. They would be presenting their final business plan, completed after doing some preliminary marketing and testing in the large city.

They would also be discussing the plans for opening day. George had some rather elaborate ideas for promotional stunts he wanted to pull and had asked for Draco's input. Though it wasn't something he normally did, he had made an exception for the Weasley brothers, probably out of fondness for Hermione. Not that she knew, or would ever know, but she was definitely the impetus.

Draco reached the conference room and pushed open the door. "Afternoon," he said, his gaze sweeping over Ron, George, and … Charlie. Fortunately for Draco, he was so surprised at seeing the extra Weasley that he didn't have the chance to be angry—and therefore he didn't have to hide it.

Charlie sat up straighter when Draco entered, his expression anxious.

Draco went to his chair at the head of the table and gripped the back tightly, his thoughts whirring and his pulse slightly racing. Charlie Weasley was here. The Charlie that Hermione had nearly …. The Charlie she was still in love with.

With a flat affect, he greeted them. "Good afternoon, George, Ron. Charlie." He couldn't help the way his voice strained at the man's name. "Are you ready to begin?"

George grinned. "No need to be so formal, mate. We're all friends here."

Draco's gaze flitted briefly to Charlie and then back to George. He took a deep breath and forced a small smile. He refused to let Charlie Weasley discombobulate him. Taking a seat, he said, "Let's talk about the fireworks."

George leaned forward, an excited gleam in his eyes. "We'll definitely do those in the evening, once the store closes for the first time." It would only be a symbolic closing; the shop would stay open late into the night for the invitation-only party. "I want to do something different than we discussed earlier for the opening stunt."

"Oh?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "What are you thinking now?"

"I'd like to stage a little show of some kind. It would take place in the Place de la Magie, and the other shop owners would know about it," George said. "There will be acting involved, dueling, a little something for the ladies …." He winked at Ron. "What do you think?

Draco tried to picture it in his mind, and the image wasn't half bad. "What's 'for the ladies'?" he asked.

Ron spoke up. "We're still working on that bit. Maybe Charlie here losing his shirt. Something like that."

At this, Draco glanced at the oldest red-head to find him shaking his head in amusement at his brothers. After slightly scowling at his chief rival, he turned back to the others. "That will have them all swooning, I'm sure," he remarked dryly. "What would be the purpose of this … production?"

"The shop is already set to open later than most of the other establishments," said George. "Then, fifteen minutes before we open, the show begins. It ends at promptly eleven, and we'll incorporate the grand opening of the shop into the show." He grinned. "It'll be brilliant!"

"I look forward to it," Draco said.

"We were hoping you'd participate," Ron added.

Draco frowned. "Participate in what way?"

"Be in the show?" George said in a questioning tone.

Draco scoffed. "I think not."

"Come on, Malfoy," goaded Ron. "You can be the hero or something."

"Let me be perfectly clear," Draco enunciated. "In no capacity will I be involved with your publicity stunt."

"Hermione will be impressed," Ron tried.

At hearing her name, he tensed and kept his eyes focused on Ron. He couldn't tell if Charlie had perked up, but he wasn't interested in finding out. "I highly doubt that," he said, well aware that all three of the other men probably knew Hermione better than he did. The thought soured him.

"All right, maybe not," admitted Ron, "But she'll be there. She might even be in it."

Draco stared piercingly at him. "No. That is final. If you want my company's support, you will drop this."

"Merlin, lighten up," said George good-naturedly. "Just a bit of harmless ribbing, you don't want to be in it, that's fine."

He forced a smile. "I apologize, but our time is limited. I do like the idea, however. What's next?"

The meeting lasted just under an hour. George did most of the talking, and Ron chimed in occasionally. Charlie's presence seemed to serve no purpose, as he didn't contribute to the generation of ideas nor did he join in their banter. He stared out the glass wall and the windows beyond, seemingly lose in thought.

Once all the details had been finalized, Draco stood to leave. He felt like bolting; as Charlie's silence had lengthened, Draco felt more and more uncomfortable. There had been no explanation for his presence … nothing.

"I look forward to the opening next week," Draco said.

"It's going to be _grand_," said George with a wink.

Draco shook hands with George and Ron and nodded at Charlie. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." With that, he left the conference room, walking briskly to his office.

"Hey, Malfoy!"

He froze. The voice that called to him was lower and scratchier than either George's or Ron's. Draco slowly spun on his heel, dreading whatever conversation was about to follow.

"Charlie," he clipped. "What can I do for you?" Draco saw the other two Weasleys disappear around the corner.

Charlie scratched the back of his head, an uncomfortable smile on his face. "Look, I just wanted to apologize."

Draco frowned. "For what?"

"The other day … with Hermione," he said.

Still confused, he said, "What do you mean?"

It was apparent that Charlie didn't want to say what he meant. "If I had known she was seeing you—or anybody—I wouldn't have asked her to go with me. We often attend events together."

Anger flared, but Draco refused to acknowledge it. Instead he focused on this new development and on making the most of it. "I know that. Hermione is at perfect liberty to spend time with her friends." He placed emphasis on the last word.

Charlie grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, of course, but then _Witch Weekly_ made a big deal about it, and I really wanted you to know that I had no idea she was seeing you. Or anyone."

Draco shifted his weight. "It's fine, I assure you. She told me all about your evening."

Charlie tensed, visibly. "She, uh, she did, huh?"

Draco smirked. "Yes. Fortunately, I'm not the jealous type." It wasn't a complete lie; before Hermione, he had never been one to get jealous. "I understand that at one time, you two were quite attached." He took a step toward the larger, taller man. "Tell me something, Weasley. Are you still in love with her?"

Charlie paled and wouldn't look Draco in the eye. "Look, Malfoy. I don't want any trouble with you. I just came to apologize."

"I'll accept it, if you answer my question," Draco offered.

With a grimace, Charlie slowly nodded.

"Say it," Draco demanded, the anger returning.

"Yes, I do. I love her." His shoulders slumped, defeated. "And I've lost her."

Draco reveled momentarily in his small victory before realizing that he would be in the same spot as soon as he discovered the blackmailer. He would soon know the sting of losing Hermione just as much as Charlie did. What was worse … Hermione loved Weasley, too. _He _was the one keeping them apart.

"You're a fool to have let her go," he said, his voice flat.

Charlie looked at him then, regret and desperation in his eyes. "I know," he croaked. "It was so complicated, and it was tearing her apart—"

"I'm aware of the circumstances," Draco interrupted, his words causing Charlie's eyes to widen in surprise. "But it's been years, Weasley. There's no excuse."

"I know," he repeated, then let out a frustrated breath. "I'm too late, aren't I?"

Their eyes met, and Draco knew Charlie was asking him the same question. Did he love Hermione? As he'd told Pansy, he was well on his way. What if he said no? Would Charlie move in, try to snatch her?

"You aren't too late until there's a ring on her finger and mine," Draco conceded, "though I cannot presume to speak for Hermione." He avoided answering the question directly but still let Charlie know in no uncertain terms just how serious he was.

Charlie nodded, a silent understanding passing between them. They weren't exactly enemies—they both wanted Hermione to be happy—yet they were after the same thing. For the first time since the charade began, Draco considered actually fighting for her. It would be an uphill battle, considering she wanted the man standing opposite him …. Oh, who was he kidding? He was already beat. Still, Charlie thought this was real, and Draco did not want to back down or give even a hint of hesitancy.

Then a voice in the back of his head whispered something that made him groan. Pesky voice that made him do things that went against his nature. "You know, Weasley, I'm not the one you should be telling."

Charlie blinked, processing what Draco had said. He sighed. "You're right. I should tell her, but she's with you."

"You've got that right," Draco quipped.

"Look, I swear I won't … make a move on her while you're together, but I think I'll tell her the truth about how I feel." Charlie's tone was uncompromising.

"I'm glad to hear that. Know that I have no intention of sitting idle. I _will_ fight for her," Draco said warningly.

With a curt nod, Charlie said, "Of course." He straightened. "I'm glad we talked."

Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement, then resumed the path to his office. Only when the door was safely closed behind him did Draco's impassive mask break. He swore as waves of anger, jealousy and anxiety bombarded him all at once. What if Charlie spoke to Hermione while he and she were still pretending to be in a relationship? He only felt mildly confident that she would stick with her promise to help him. Considering Charlie was the 'love of her life,' he wouldn't be surprised if she ended things in order to be with him. They would still be able to work together, but it would be much trickier, not to mention a slow, painful form of torture, possibly the worst he would ever experience.

**O****oo**

Friday morning, Hermione was seated with Harry and Blaise for breakfast. The two men were discussing Quidditch, and she interjected half-heartedly whenever she could.

When the mail was delivered, Hermione didn't get an owl. Instead, a man dressed in flashy maroon robes walked into the Great Hall and deposited a beautiful arrangement of flowers in her place. Stunned, she accepted the accompanying card without a word, staring at the flowers.

"Wow," said Harry with a chuckle. "He doesn't do anything by halves, does he?"

"No." She shook her head, then opened the card.

_Hermione,_

_I was thinking about you recently, and __I realized I'd never sent you flowers. I immediately set out to correct this error. I hope you like them. _

_Draco_

It was a short, simple note, but the first sentence he'd written set her heart thumping faster than normal. He'd been thinking about her! She tried to convince herself that the impersonal ending to the note, the mere correction of error, didn't hurt.

"Well, I've got to get something from the store room before class," said Harry, waving as he made his exit.

As Hermione admired the various flowers, Blaise mumbled something under his breath. "What?" she asked.

He scowled at Draco's gift, then turned to her. "Be careful, Hermione."

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

Blaise nodded at the flowers, seeming to hesitate about something. "Draco. I … I don't know that his intentions with you are completely good."

Hermione's stomach dropped before she remembered that the relationship wasn't real. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more explicit than that," she replied, tucking the card back in the envelope.

He shook his head. "Just … be careful. I don't exactly trust him where you're concerned."

She was stunned. She had thought Blaise and Draco were friends, but that was her mistake. Draco had never talked to her about Blaise, save for their brief discussion about him when they'd created the cards and one or two since, instigated by her.

"Thanks, Blaise," she said genuinely. "I should get these in water."

**O****oo**

One of Hermione's favorite rooms in her parents' house had always been the living room. The Christmas tree was put in that room every year; it had the best light for reading; the fireplace was there, and she remembered many cold nights spent in front of it with hot chocolate and her parents. She had been in that room when she'd read her first letter from Hogwarts.

Now she stood in the room, more nervous than she had ever been. Draco entered just moments after her and dusted himself off. Then he glanced around, taking in the warm, inviting space. Hermione clenched her fists tightly. What had she been thinking, agreeing to bring Draco over? What if they hated him? Or worse, what if they like him? Explaining their break-up would be horrible if they really, really liked him.

"Hermione? Is that you?" Elizabeth's voice rang through the house.

"Yes!" she called. Then she felt Draco's hand on her fist, and he gently pried her fingers open to entwine his with hers.

"Relax," he breathed into her ear, giving her hand a gently squeeze. "My 'charm' mode is on full force."

She smiled warily, knowing he'd meant it reassuringly. Unable to decide how she wanted her parents to feel about Draco, she led him into the kitchen where her mother was already at work.

"There you are." Elizabeth smiled warmly at her daughter and then hugged her before turning to Draco. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," he said, flashing a smile.

"Did I hear my girl arrive?" Thomas' voice rang from somewhere in the house. Soon he appeared in the entry to the kitchen. He grinned at Hermione, then offered a hand to Draco. "So you're Draco."

He shook Thomas' hand firmly. "I am, sir."

"We've heard quite a lot about you."

Hermione didn't miss the skeptical tone in her father's voice. For nearly three years, Charlie had been the ideal, the one to whom she compared every other man she'd dated. All of them had fallen vastly short, until now. Maybe, after the business with the blackmailer was finished, she would ask him out, just to see if there was anything real there. Maybe.

"All good, I hope," Draco said.

"Mostly," said Elizabeth, winking at the blond. "Hermione, would you give me a hand?"

Two hours later, Thomas and Elizabeth were almost as enamored of Draco as Hermione was. He had helped with the food preparations, offered to set the table the Muggle way, and discussed football with Thomas—to Hermione's complete surprise. All in all, he delivered a stellar portrayal of a loyal, doting, and smitten boyfriend. Hermione was nearly in tears of frustration by the time she and Draco Floo'd back to her room at Hogwarts.

All she wanted was for him to go so that she could pout in solitude at the unfairness of the entire situation. He seemed to sense her mood, however, and despite her abrupt dismissal, he sat on a chair by the fireplace and bridged his fingers.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, walking around the small sitting room and straightening whatever she could find out of place. She hoped he would get the message and go. "I've got a few things to do before tonight."

Quickly, she ran out of things to put away, and still he sat there, watching her, a puzzled frown on his face.

"I don't understand," he said eventually. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" she cried, exasperated by the morning and his continued presence. "You did nothing wrong, not a single thing. You were bloody perfect, actually. They adore you."

Slowly, he said, "I thought that was the point."

Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. "Yes, ordinarily! But in case you've forgotten, Draco, this isn't real!" She started pacing nervously. "What am I going to tell them when we break up? How am I going to explain it, when they clearly believe we're completely in love with each other? Now that I think about it, you should have gone for entirely forgettable. Unremarkable. Not full blast Malfoy charm."

Still frowning, he said, "I hadn't thought about that. I'm sorry if things will be difficult for you." He swallowed hard, grimacing at the thought of what he was about to say. "I've been thinking, and perhaps it would be best for me to be the cause of our eventual break-up."

Hermione froze in the middle of lining up the spines of her books in a flat line. Until only moments before, she had refused to think about the inevitable. On top of her current mood, it was the last thing she wanted to discuss. Instead of responding, she returned to her task of aligning the spines of the books on her shelves.

Draco knew she'd heard him and continued. "It makes sense. You'll go back to the way things were; your friends probably expect me to screw up anyway. They'll go back to hating me—"

"I don't want them to hate you," she interrupted, her insides clenching painfully, the exact way she had felt with every important break-up she'd ever been through. As though it was real. Merlin, she was tired of thinking those words!

"I can't see any realistic alternatives." He wanted to stop the conversation and was immensely sorry he'd started it. His mind was spinning with images of his future, all of them absent her, and he found that for the first time in seven years, he wasn't looking forward to his freedom. Of course, he would be ecstatic to be out from under the immense burdens of leading the company and trying to keep it afloat despite the blackmailer, but now he would be losing something precious as he gained his life back.

"I don't want them to hate you, not when they've finally accepted you and sort of like you," she insisted. "I would like to find some way to part amicably so that we can remain friends."

An image flashed in his mind of a Weasley gathering, of trying to fit in, of watching Charlie and Hermione walk hand-in-hand through the garden, her in the white dress …. "I'm not sure that will be possible," he muttered. Draco doubted that Charlie would ever willingly allow Hermione to spend time with him once he finally had her back.

She spun to face him, crossing her arms once more. "Why not? I … I thought we were friends."

Draco sighed. "We are, but you have to agree we don't exactly run in the same circles. In seven years, we saw each other … at most, once a year. That hardly constitutes the foundation for a friendship."

Her heart sank, and she went to look out the window. This was why she hadn't wanted to think about the break-up. She had grown to care deeply for Draco, and she considered him a very good friend. The thought of returning to the way things were, knowing how well they got along, how much she enjoyed his company, was almost unbearable.

"I don't even know what I'll be doing once this is all over," he said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"For seven years, I've been putting my life on hold," he said firmly. "Once that's over …. All I know is that I want to get away for a while. Travel. Be a little irresponsible, live the life I've missed out on."

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. "Harry went through that."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh? What did he do?"

She shook her head in remembrance. "After the war, he started dating Ginny. Things were such a mess, and he jumped right into the work of rebuilding. Someone in Ginny's family mentioned marriage, and even though the one thing Harry has wanted more than anything is a family, he panicked."

Draco nodded, encouraging her to continue.

"All he had ever done was what was expected of him. Sure, he had fun, had some adventures along the way, but it's as though his life was on this set path: kill Voldemort, or die trying. Once that was accomplished, he jumped right onto another set path: marry Ginny, have a family, settle down."

He went to stand beside her by the window. "What did he do?"

"He broke up with her and left." She gave him a small smile. "Went to be irresponsible for awhile. I mean, it's Harry, so he didn't go completely wild. He partied, tried a few Muggle distractions … tried women. Ron and I didn't let him do anything truly stupid."

"I'm sure he was glad to have you two," Draco muttered sourly. "They're married now."

"Yes. He eventually got it out of his system, I suppose. Ginny sure made him fight to get her back though, and in the end, I think their relationship is better for it." She chuckled. "However, it was not fun being friends with both of them through that period."

He wanted her to elaborate, but when she said nothing more, he sighed. "It's not like I want to do anything wild. I want to travel, see the world. That much I'm sure of." He shrugged in frustration at being unable to articulate what he wanted. "I want to sleep in, to not have a constant to-do list in the back of my mind. I want to go to Quidditch games, learn to cook something new …." _Get my heart broken_, he added silently_._ Watching Hermione, he realized that reality was much closer than he'd expected.

"Your point is that you won't be around to be friends," she concluded, turning to stare out the window again.

"Not for a while, no." He thought of Pansy, of Greg, even of Theo and Blaise, who barely counted as acquaintances. "I want my own place eventually, away from the Manor."

"I'm sure you'll get exactly what you want, Draco," she said softly.

Instantly he felt rotten. She wanted to be friends, and he was pushing her away because he couldn't stand the thought of watching her reunite with Charlie. Still, he knew he wasn't self-sacrificing enough to stick around for that, and he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep. He wasn't the type to toss his heart on the ground at her feet where she would trample it over and over. No, better to cut and run.

"We'll discuss this later," he said finally. "No need to get ahead of ourselves, we still have to catch this bloke. That could take time."

Hermione almost asked him how far he would go in their fake relationship if the blackmailer proved elusive for months, but she didn't want to force his thoughts down that road if he hadn't already considered the possibility. Surely they would catch him before much longer.

"I should go," he said, stepping toward the fireplace. "I have a few matters to attend to before dinner at Pansy's tonight."

"All right," she said, following him. "I'll come through at six-thirty?"

He nodded, and his eyes fell on the box of ash samples he'd given her the week before. "Have you looked at them yet?"

She followed his gaze and shook her head. "I've had a busy week. Oh! I forgot to thank you for the flowers."

Draco blinked, then shrugged. "You're welcome."

Her heart crashed again at his indifference. "Did you go through your cards, like you said you would?"

"Yes." He sighed. "There are forty-seven Death Eaters on the list. It's a bit discouraging."

Hermione forced herself to smile confidently. "Don't worry, we'll get him."

"Right," he said, smiling back. "I should go, since you've got things to do. I'll see you later."

She watched him disappear and then sank heavily in the chair he had previously occupied. Groaning, she buried her face in her hands: she was in far too deep.

**O****oo**

Hermione was nervous as they Apparated, as they walked hand in hand along the path. The jitters she felt overwhelmed the sparks at the contact with his hand, and she stood beside him on the front stoop, biting her lip.

Draco chuckled lowly, and the sound broke through her wall of nerves, rumbling deep inside her and sending a thrilling jolt down her spine.

"Relax," he said. "It's just Pansy."

"Easy for you to say," she mumbled, unable to keep from fidgeting—with her hair, her jumper, the hem of her skirt, her purse.

"Allow me to remind you that one week ago, I willingly went to the Burrow. This is … first-year wand skills compared to that."

"She was in love with you until recently, if you recall," Hermione bit out. Bugger but she talked too much when she was nervous. The jealousy she felt was simply staggering.

Draco used his free hand and reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "She invited me … _us_ … tonight so that I could meet a bloke she's been seeing. I doubt she's planning to seduce me." Without waiting for a response, Draco knocked on the door.

Hermione inhaled sharply, the nerves in her gut twisting. Draco squeezed her hand just as the door opened.

"You're on time," dead-panned Pansy Parkinson, looking slightly green around the edges.

"I do my best," Draco retorted.

Pansy forced a smile. "Hello, Hermione. So glad you could make it. Do come in. May I take your things?"

"What, no house-elf?" Hermione quipped and instantly regretted it. Draco shook his head, while Pansy's eyes widened. "I'm sorry," she rushed, handing the hostess her jumper and purse.

"Draco?" Pansy said, not taking her eyes off Hermione as he gave her his cloak. "Actually, Hermione, it's considered rude in certain circles not to answer the door personally when you're expecting guests."

"Of course, I wasn't thinking." Hermione felt her cheeks burning and glanced at Draco for help. He was smirking at Pansy, his eyes shining, and the jealousy returned full force.

"Don't give it another thought," said Pansy. "Draco, you two can go into the drawing room to wait. I'll join you."

Her voice warped at the end, and Hermione thought she might actually be sick. As Draco led her through the enormous Parkinson estate, she asked him about it.

"Pansy is introducing me, her best, oldest, most trustworthy friend, to a man that she's been seeing," Draco explained. "This has never happened before. She's … always been … well, like Potter when he left. Except, that's her normal state of life." They stopped outside a closed door.

Draco turned to her and spoke quietly. "The truth is, she's probably ten times as nervous as you were."

"Why?" Hermione pressed.

"She wants me to approve of the bloke," he admitted. "She's never been serious about someone and is terrified that I won't like him."

"It shouldn't matter though," Hermione protested in a whisper. "If she really likes him, your opinion, while important, shouldn't sway her. Look at us, Ron couldn't say one nice thing about you until last week, and I …" _Not real, Hermione!_ An inner voice shouted. "Well, his disapproval wouldn't keep me from seeing you. If this … You know what I mean!"

He smiled softly. "I do. However, Pansy is not like you. She's not as strong and independent, and … call it a fault, if you must, but she needs the approval of others. Especially mine."

Hermione pursed her lips, trying to see the world from Pansy's perspective. It wasn't easy. "What happens if you don't approve?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm in new territory here. Usually it's a new dress or a pair of shoes she wants me to look at, not a man she's been dating—not just shagging—for months. I suppose it depends on the strength of her attachment." He indicated the door. "Shall we?"

"Are you nervous?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to speak then paused. "I wasn't until you made me think about it," he said teasingly, and then opened the door.

The room was much like drawing rooms in rich, pureblooded homes: opulent and, in Hermione's opinion, gaudy. Gilded furniture with garish fabrics littered the floor, where busy carpets overlapped. The walls were papered and covered with mirrors and family portraits. A man in black robes stood with his back to them, hands clasped behind him, staring out the window.

Draco didn't hesitate and crossed the room. His movement caught the man's attention, and he turned. Draco halted mid-step, surprise and confusion on his face. "Greg?" he said, then smiled. "It's good to see you! Pansy didn't tell me you would be here tonight!"

Hermione joined him.

"N-no," Greg stuttered, his face slightly pale. "She didn't."

"It's a nice surprise." Draco shook his friend's hand, the look on Greg's face unnoticed.

However, it didn't escape Hermione. She linked her arm through Draco's and extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you again, Greg. I'm looking forward to getting to know you better."

Draco immediately stiffened, her tone breaking through his ignorance. Eyes wide, he turned again to his friend. "Greg?" he said, his tone disbelieving.

Goyle smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Surprise?"

Hermione wasn't sure what to expect from Draco, but it certainly wasn't the huge grin that covered his face or the delight in his pale, grey eyes.

He clapped Greg on the shoulder. "I don't know what to say! This is wonderful!"

Greg visibly relaxed. "Yeah? You're not upset?"

"Upset?" Draco repeated, incredulous. "Merlin, no. Why would I be? I'm thrilled." Several things clicked into place at that moment. "That's how you knew!"

"Knew? Knew what?" Greg asked.

"That night we went out to the pub," he said. "You asked about Hermione, and I couldn't figure out how you knew, but Pansy told you."

"What did you ask, Greg?" Hermione questioned.

Goyle reddened and avoided her gaze, so she turned to Draco, who was chuckling.

She frowned, and when he saw it, Draco put his arm around her. "It was nothing, really. He merely asked about the night I had you over for dinner."

"Oh," Hermione said. Then she, too, blushed. "Oh!"

Draco cast her a sideways smirk, then changed the subject. "I am curious about why you didn't tell me until now. How long has this been going on?"

"Since Fiji," said Pansy, sidling up beside Greg. Though her movements were confident, there was still fear lingering in her eyes.

"Fiji?" he repeated, surprised, glancing between his two friends. "That was two months ago!"

"I know," said Pansy, biting her lip. "I'm sorry. We just … we wanted to wait and see how things went first."

Draco kept his expression neutral, but inside he was concerned. He would have to get the truth from Pansy when they were alone. "I see," was all he said.

Pansy turned to Hermione. "I'm so sorry that you got dragged into this."

"This is nothing," Hermione assured her. "Last week I hauled Draco to the Burrow for an entire evening."

"Oh, that's right," Pansy remarked. "He actually said he enjoyed himself, and I nearly spat out my tea."

Draco chuckled. "I think I owe Zabini a few Galleons from a bet we made in school."

Hermione tried to ignore the pangs of jealousy that popped up upon seeing Draco and Pansy interact. They were so comfortable, so familiar … much like the way she was with Harry and Ron. Still neither of her two friends had professed their love for her in the last three months. Pansy's eyes sparkled whenever she looked at Draco, and Hermione refused to accept that all of her feelings had magically disappeared.

"Shall we have dinner now?" Pansy asked, linking arms with Greg.

"That sounds perfect," said Draco. "Give us a few minutes and we'll join you."

Pansy nodded and allowed Greg to lead her from the room.

Hermione looked at Draco expectantly.

"I'm sorry, I had no idea," he said quickly.

"About what? Greg? Why should you be sorry?" she asked.

"I had no idea I'd be bringing you to dinner with my two best friends," he explained.

"It's fine," she insisted. "I took you to dinner with ten of my best friends last week. I am surprised about Greg though; I had no idea you two were so close."

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets. "We weren't until after the war."

She gave him a reassuring smile. "Come on. I'll be just fine, even surrounded by your best friends."

He nodded and escorted her to the dining room. It was a large, dark room with three enormous chandeliers hanging over the long table. Pansy sat at one end with Greg to her left.

As Draco led Hermione to the seat beside Greg, he gently placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her. The action felt far more intimate than holding her hand, and it stirred a longing in her that she couldn't afford. Her physical awareness of him, attached to her growing—more like exploding—feelings that he would likely never return, gave her a sudden urge to scream in frustration. Instead, she silently cursed the material that separated their skin.

Dinner with Draco, Pansy, and Greg was as different from dinner at the Burrow as night from day. The table was set for fine dining, the food was presented in courses, and conversation was polite and restrained. Hermione realized it was what Draco was probably used to, and wondered which he preferred, now that he'd experienced the Burrow.

After the meal, they moved into the tea room for dessert. When Pansy excused herself, Draco followed, catching her elbow to stop her.

"Oh! Draco, you scared me!" she said, a hand flying to her heart. "I didn't know you'd come after me."

He smiled warmly. "I apologize for startling you. I merely wanted a moment alone with you, and I'm going to be out of town all next week."

She quirked an eyebrow suggestively. "You always were the type to want what you can't have."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Where are you going?"

"For a smoke," she admitted.

"I thought you were quitting," he chided.

"I am, but tonight has been so stressful. Just half, I promise. Join me?" She held out her hand and he accepted, allowing her to pull him onto the nearest balcony. After lighting up and taking a drag, she sighed and said, "What did you want?"

He leaned on the railing beside her. "I would like to know the real reason you didn't tell me about you and Greg sooner."

Pansy cast him a wavy look. "I told you."

"You know I didn't buy it," he scoffed. "I approve, greatly, but I have to know. Are you ashamed of him? Is that why you've been seeing him secretly for two months?"

"What?" she cried, spinning to face him. "No! Merlin, how could you ask such a thing?"

"Because, I know you," he said evenly. "Greg isn't rich, he isn't well-placed in society. In fact, he could be the exact type you swore you'd never condescend to socialize with, much less date."

Her eyes went wide, the cigarette forgotten in her hand as she stared at him. Then she slapped him. "I happen to love Gregory Goyle, more than I ever thought I loved you, or anyone else! He's the most decent man I know, and he treats me better than I deserve. Don't you dare, Draco Malfoy, question my feelings for him, or my motives."

Draco rubbed his cheek, scowling as she spoke, but it was hard to keep from grinning at the same time. "Good," he said, standing and straightening his robes. "I'm glad we had this talk."

He headed back inside and was halfway to the tea room when she caught up with him and wrenched him around by the arm.

"You smarmy little rodent!" she hissed. "You baited me on purpose!"

Draco nodded slightly in confirmation, then smirked. "It worked, didn't it?"

"I didn't tell you before because I really was worried about your reaction," she confessed. "Things between you and me … are weird. I know you're with Hermione, but seeing me with someone else, someone I really care about …. I didn't know what it would do."

He shook his head in amusement. "Ah, Pansy. Our relationship isn't normal, that's true, but I assure you I'm not harboring romantic feelings for you."

Hurt flashed briefly in her eyes. "I know that," she snapped.

"I never have."

"Do you want me to match your left cheek to your right?" she threatened. "I know you don't love me, and I'm perfectly fine with that."

Draco's countenance instantly turned serious and he moved to stand mere inches from her. "You'd better be. You're right, Greg is a decent, good human being, and he doesn't deserve your usual treatment."

"How dare you!"

She swung her hand up, but he caught it easily, without even breaking eye contact. "I mean it, Pansy. This better not be a ploy to just make me jealous. I—" Draco stopped himself just in time, but the sentence continued in his mind. _I love Hermione, and I don't think that's ever going to change._

Her eyes narrowed. "You what?"

When his near slip caught up to his brain, Draco's heart started pounding furiously. "N-nothing," he stammered, dropping her arm and backing away.

"Draco?" she said, her expression slightly concerned.

He said nothing, just turned and hurried down the hallway, away from the tea room. Once he'd rounded a corner, he went into the first room he came to, threw open the window, and stuck his head through. The cold, winter night air blasted his senses, and his thoughts emptied out of his mind.

When he felt refreshed, he closed the window. Dragging a hand through his hair, he sat heavily on a chair. He'd almost told Pansy he loved Hermione, something he hadn't even thought or realized until that moment.

Could it be possible? He shook his head in astonishment. Nothing inside him protested at the idea, it didn't terrify him as he would have expected. The only real problem with admitting his feelings was that she still loved Weasley. Draco was headed for his first heartbreak, but he couldn't bring himself to care just then.

Most troublesome was that he'd almost blurted it out to Pansy of all people. His control seemed to be slipping; if he wasn't careful, he was liable to do something rash, irrevocable. That simply wouldn't do.

**O****oo**

Hermione and Greg were talking quietly about his job, her nervousness at Draco's absence growing by the minute, fueled by jealousy. They both heard a door slam and glanced up to see Pansy enter the room, a dazed look on her face.

"What was that?" asked Greg.

"Nothing," she assured them with a forced smile. "I'll call for tea."

"Where's Draco?" Hermione inquired, not believing Pansy's 'nothing' for an instant.

She shrugged too nonchalantly. "He's … walking off some things."

Hermione didn't like the sound of that and started for the door.

Pansy grabbed her arm. "I wouldn't, if I were you. I really wouldn't."

Hermione ignored her and went into the hall to look for Draco. She stood looking to either side, not having a clue where to start. Maybe Pansy had been right, and she shouldn't go after him. If he was upset, he probably wouldn't appreciate her interference. She stared to her right, feeling helpless.

"Hey."

She spun around to find Draco standing there, a half-smile on his face, and it was all she could do not to fling herself at him. "Where were you?"

"The loo," he said indifferently. "What are you doing?"

She didn't buy his answer. "We heard a door slam, and Pansy suggested you were upset."

"She exaggerated. It was nothing." His smile was forced as he held out his arm.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. Despite Pansy and Draco's easy demeanors, Hermione knew something had happened and hated the way her traitorous mind kept conjuring pictures of them in a spare room, lips, arms and bodies locked.

"You all right?" Draco asked, once they were back at the Manor.

"Are you?" she countered.

He sighed. "Yes. I swear, nothing happened. I needed to talk to her about Greg, see how serious she was. That's all."

Hermione frowned. He still wouldn't look her in the eyes. "You promise?"

Draco hesitated, his expression torn. He had vowed never to lie to her, but he certainly wasn't willing to confess what he had nearly admitted earlier. Finally dragging his eyes to hers, he said, "No. But I'm not telling you the rest."

Something about his tone stopped Hermione from pushing him. "All right, then. I suppose I should be going," she said, and started for his bedroom.

"Hermione," he called, catching up to her. "Don't be upset."

"I'm not," she said.

He walked in silence, unsure if she was the type of woman who said she wasn't upset when she really was. Even if he could figure that out, he didn't know if he was supposed to push her to reveal her feelings or leave her be.

"I'm not," she repeated, this time firmly. "I'm tired. It's been a long week. Tonight was … good. Awkward, but good." They reached his fireplace, and she prepared herself to leave. As she turned to say goodbye, she realized she wouldn't see him again until they were both in Paris. They hadn't finalized their plans.

"I will be in Paris Friday morning," she said.

"I'll wait for you in the suite." He handed her a key and an address after retrieving them from a dresser drawer. "We can go to the shop together from there."

She gave him a tentative smile, one she hoped would let him know she wasn't thrilled at being left out of what had happened but that she was resigned to never knowing. "Good night, Draco."

**ooo**

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading! Chapter title taken from "Warning Sign" by Coldplay. Beta thanks go to drcjsnider & pokeystar, playlist as always by inadaze22. The art for this week's chapter was done by the fabulous liltinybee. Check it out!


	19. Harder to Breathe

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Poll Update: **Blaise remains in strong control of the lead, followed distantly by Caleb, then Lucius. Eliminated this week: Carrie (she really is GONE!) and Greg Goyle. Remember, there will be a poll for just one more chapter after this one!

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 19**** - - Harder to Breathe  
**

**- - -**

The week seemed to drag for Hermione. She was anxious to see Draco again, but couldn't let go of the nagging feeling that something had changed between them at Pansy's house, even though they hadn't even been in the same room when it happened. He wrote to her once, all business, sending her the list of names that remained on their suspect list.

Harry noticed that something was wrong and asked her about it almost daily, Ginny pestered her at lunch on Tuesday, and Samaya prodded her for information in class. They were all concerned about her and Draco, but she assured them that things were fine.

When Friday arrived, she found herself extremely nervous about seeing him again. It felt so unfair that she hadn't been part of whatever changed between them. She couldn't give it a name and hate it, or applaud it—nothing. It was like waiting for a storm, watching it roll in over the plain, gaining strength as it approached, all the while unable to do anything about it.

Hermione packed a light bag for the day, including the new dress she'd purchased for the occasion. The after party would be a black-tie affair, despite the fact that it was for a joke shop, and Ginny had encouraged her to get something new, something that would blow Draco away. Hermione had chosen a copper-coloured strapless dress with embellishment on the bodice and skirt. She felt a little self-conscious, but then remembered that she would be on Draco's arm all evening and needed to look the part.

The Portkey activated at ten, and Hermione arrived in the International Portkey Center in Paris. After registering her presence and wand with the Security personnel, she took out the address Draco had given her and Apparated with a sigh.

The hotel was in a Muggle section of Paris, and from the look of the foyer, she couldn't afford to stay the night in a broom closet.

"May I help you?" asked the gentleman at the door.

"I'm looking for Draco Malfoy's room," she replied.

He smiled patiently. "Room five-thirty-two."

After thanking him, Hermione found the lift. Soon she was going up, up, then stepping out into a luxurious hallway. Nerves firing in her gut, she found room thirty-two.

"Don't be nervous," she told herself as she stood outside the door. "You've no reason to be nervous." It didn't help, but at least she was mentally preparing herself for whatever was going to happen.

It took a few moments, but Draco answered the door, one hand working the buttons of his shirt. For the briefest of instants, Hermione thought she saw his eyes light up, but it was gone before she could be sure.

"Hey," he said, letting her in. "I'm just about ready."

"When are we supposed to be there?" she asked.

"Not for another twenty minutes," he replied, using the mirror to put on his tie. "But I want to be there early, just in case anyone needs me."

Seeing him again was an intense mixture of sensations. He looked good, so very good, much better than the pictures in her head, and she found it hard to believe they'd been apart less than a week. Draco wore a crisp, white shirt and black trousers. A suit jacket was tossed over the sofa, and his tie was pale green.

"How was your week?" he asked as he continued to dress.

"Fine," she said absently, "just fine." She tore her gaze from him to look around the exquisite suite. They were in a sitting room with walls of windows on two sides and a modest kitchen to her right. On the wall behind the kitchen were two doors, and she went to look in both. They were bedrooms, one was on the corner of the building with two window-walls, and the other with just one. Between them was an enormous bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub, shower box and two sinks. All the materials were rich: the deep woods, the tile, the wood floors ….

"I thought you could have this room," Draco said from the doorway of the corner bedroom. "All of my things are in the other one."

She spun around. "Are you sure? I don't mind the other."

"I've been in there all week. I hardly care which bed I sleep in."

He left her alone and Hermione set her bag on the bed. It was easily the nicest hotel she'd ever been in. Ordinarily, she would be thrilled with the opportunity to stay at such a place, but she couldn't get excited. All she wanted to do was get into his head and find out what had happened last Saturday night, but it suddenly felt like there were impenetrable walls between them.

"I'm ready," Draco announced, returning to the room. "Are you?"

"Sure," she said listlessly.

Draco narrowed his gaze on her and grabbed her wrist as she walked past him. "What's the matter?"

She was honestly stunned that he noticed and even more so that he asked. "Nothing."

He peered at her for a few seconds, then slowly gave her a half-smile. "I don't believe you. I know you pretty well, you know."

"Really, I'm fine," she insisted, trying to get free of his grip but he held tight.

"You aren't. What happened? Something at school?"

The genuine concern in his eyes brought tears of frustration to her eyes, and she quickly turned away before he saw them. "Fine, then, if you insist. I want to know what happened at Pansy's."

Draco released her as though burned. "Let it go," he snapped, brushing past her.

"You asked," she called after him.

Chuckling dryly, he said, "You're right, I did."

"How was your week?" she inquired, wanting to change the subject.

"Busy. Very busy. Did you get my note?" He shrugged his jacket on, did a quick mental check for everything he might need, then looked at her.

"Yes." She wanted to ask why there had only been one, but she was being childish. She had agreed to this plan and would follow it through, no matter how much her heart was now invested in the man waiting for her. "Let's go."

"You look nice," he said, smiling crookedly.

She fought the urge to scream. "Thanks."

"The entrance to wizarding Paris is actually quite close," said Draco, clasping her hand and leading her through the hotel. "I thought we'd walk."

"That sounds nice." Hermione didn't pay attention to where they were until they rounded a corner and Notre Dame Cathedral was framed in front of her. She gasped at its sudden, amazing appearance, halting their progress momentarily.

"It's something, isn't it?" Draco murmured.

"Yes, quite," she agreed.

"We're very close now," he said.

They resumed walking along the Seine, Hermione being constantly distracted by the vendors hawking everything from miniature models of the Eiffel Tower to very old books. Each stand containing the latter meant a moments' pause.

"I'll buy you all of these books," said Draco at the fifth stand, "if you'll please come with me now!"

She gave him a strange look. "All of them?"

"Yes. Please?"

Hermione nodded and he grabbed her hand again. Soon they came right up beside the cathedral and the bridge that crossed to the island on which it stood.

As Hermione admired the façade and gazed at the courtyard full of people, Draco came to stand very close beside her to whisper in her ear. "I need you to promise me that you will focus now. Don't let go of my hand, no matter what."

"What? Why?" she asked, puzzled.

"Do I have your word?" His tone was oddly serious.

"Yes, all right, sure."

"Remember. I have your word," he said, facing away from the cathedral. "Let's go."

Hermione followed him and soon her eyes fell upon a sign on a shop that sat a little ways off the main street: Shakespeare and Co. Bookstore. No wonder Draco had made her promise.

Resolutely, he pulled her through the people milling about, browsing the books on the sidewalk, and into the shop. It was lined floor to ceiling with books of all kinds, and as Draco hauled her further into the store, she realized they were mostly in English.

"Draco—"

"Not now. I swear to you that I will bring you back here, but we cannot be late."

She only nodded as she took in the space. Soon they'd reached a staircase and up they went, into a quieter area. The front room contained a small café and a few tables, while the back, their destination, housed yet more books.

Draco went into the very back corner, took out his wand and, much like the method used to enter Diagon Alley from the Leaky Cauldron, tapped a series of books. A mirror that hung on the wall beside them blurred and became like a window, revealing a magnificent scene.

"Inside," he said, motioning for her to go first.

"We can come back?" she said, hesitating.

Draco chuckled. "I gave my word."

Hermione sighed and went through the portal. The sight that greeted her made her gasp in wonderment. They were on a second story walk way that wrapped all the way around a massive courtyard. Shops and cafes lined the courtyard, with more shops on the second level. Trees and benches dotted the courtyard, and in the center was a large, magical fountain.

"Have you never been here?" Draco asked, leaning against the railing of the walk way.

"No," she breathed. "I've only been to Paris with my parents."

Draco watched Hermione take in the sights, and he scolded himself severely. The look of pure wonder and delight on her face, all from the magical world, shamed him even now, after he'd long left behind the prejudices of blood superiority. To think that he would have once denied Hermione this life, this world in which she found so much joy ….

"I want to see everything," she announced.

"We will. But first, we've got to get to the shop. They open in thirty minutes, and the show is about to start." He took her hand started toward a set of stairs.

"Show?" she repeated. "What show?"

"You'll see," he said, smiling despite himself.

He hadn't been lying, as Hermione soon discovered. At twenty minutes before eleven, when Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was scheduled to open, a commotion began at one end of the Place de la Magie. Draco pulled Hermione to the edge of the courtyard, one hand possessively on her back. She loved the light but constant pressure and found herself leaning into him a bit.

The show was delightful, full of impressive magical displays, clever placement of WWW products, and a grand finale with a fantastic duel between the evil Count Doldeport and the humble but fierce Larry Flotter. Flotter won, of course, and quickly proclaimed that he couldn't have done it without Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The story was funny and well-written, the stunts well-executed, and the entire show received thunderous applause. Everyone who had been shopping, browsing, even working, stopped what they were doing and watched.

When Hermione joined in the applause, she was surprised to realize that Draco was practically holding her. The hand that had started on her back was now around her waist, and her entire side was pressed flush against his chest. Fortunately, she didn't have time to feel awkward, since he released her in order to applaud as well.

"That was great!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Brilliant," he agreed, watching as people rushed toward the now open joke shop.

"You're seeing Galleons right now, aren't you?" she teased.

Draco chuckled. "It's ingrained in me, I suppose. Shall we join the massive queue?"

"All right," she said eagerly, hoping to see Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

George was standing at the door and, when he saw Draco and Hermione, ushered them right in. The store wasn't too crowded since entrance was being controlled to limit the number of people inside at one time.

Most of the Weasleys were there, helping customers find products and answering questions. Bill, Fleur and Gabrielle were behind the counter, working seamlessly to check people out as quickly as possible.

"Hey, Hermione!" called Ron, waving her and Draco over.

"Congratulations, Ron! This is amazing!" Hermione exclaimed, hugging her dear friend.

Draco nodded in agreement, then started when he saw Charlie a few aisles over. Their eyes met briefly before Ron called Draco's name.

"What?"

"Are you going to buy anything?" Ron asked.

"I don't think so," Draco replied, still distracted and fighting a scowl.

"Come on," said Hermione, tugging on his arm. "Let's get out of the way." They moved to an unoccupied corner. "I feel like I should help," she said.

"Why?"

"Because, the Weasleys are like my second family, and they're all here working." Even Percy was on the floor, assisting customers.

Draco shrugged. "If you want to, that's fine. I'm not sure what to tell people, really, but I'll try."

She stared at him in shock for a few seconds, her throat tightening and tears threatening. It wasn't fair; why couldn't he be real!

"Just stick with me," she said with a cautious smile.

Eventually, they became separated. Hermione was helping a couple of kids select a skiving snackbox, and she had no idea where Draco had gone. When the kids left, she turned to the next person waiting, only to discover that Charlie was beside her.

"Oh!" she cried. "You startled me."

"Sorry," he said, grinning sheepishly.

"It's all right. How are you? How have you been?" It was strange, talking with Charlie, now that she had officially moved on. She would always care deeply for him, but his nearness now felt almost … awkward.

"I've been great, and you?" he returned.

"The same," she said. "Busy."

He shifted nervously. "How are things with Malfoy?"

Hermione couldn't believe that he'd asked about Draco. "They're … good."

"Yeah? That's great."

His smile was forced, and Hermione got the feeling that he was about to say something huge. Surprisingly, she found herself dreading the conversation, the words she had wanted to hear for years, because her response wouldn't be what he wanted to hear.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

Hermione turned to the customer, sending Charlie an apologetic smile. He nodded and moved away.

The crowd finally thinned around half past two, and Hermione searched the store for Draco, more than ready to leave. It surprised her to find him talking to Harry and Ron. She slid into the space beside him and squeezed his hand, not to interrupt, but to let him know she wanted to speak with him. When he had a moment, he looked at her.

"I'm ready to go," she said.

"Your friends were talking about seeing the city," he said, a seldom-seen glint of excitement in his eyes. "You interested?"

"Absolutely!" She beamed. "I'll grab my purse." Then, reality hit her again. It was a constant back-and-forth, and she couldn't understand why her heart and mind kept forgetting the truth. He'd just spent nearly three hours helping George and Ron, and now wanted to spend the afternoon with Harry, Ginny, Ron and her. It was unbelievable, and the wear and tear was going to wreak havoc with her any day now.

They bought sandwiches on their way out of the Place de la Magie, and Draco volunteered to show them around a bit, since he'd been there numerous times. They explored La Cité and Notre Dame, then walked up the Champs Élysées. Harry and Hermione admired the Arc de Triomphe, and she explained some of its history. Ron and Ginny weren't very interested, but Draco listened thoughtfully.

Then they took the metro—Ron wouldn't stop exclaiming his disbelief that Draco had ridden Muggle public transportation—to Trocadero Plaza, where they admired the Eiffel Tower from afar.

"It's incredible!" said Harry. "I've always wanted to see it, and it's more amazing in person."

Ginny and Ron were speechless, and Hermione realized the wizarding world didn't have anything like it, no grand monuments built to showcase their talents and technology. They were far too concerned with hiding their existence from the muggles.

"Want to go up?" asked Draco.

"Up?" Ron repeated, his eyes moving to the top platform. "We can go up?"

"I'd like that very much," said Ginny, wrapping her arms around Harry's waist and squeezing.

After some covert wand work, they moved to the front of the line and boarded the lift to the first level. They transferred to another lift to the second level, and likewise to the top. Harry and Ginny wandered off together, and Ron decided he'd rather be uncomfortable around them than Draco and Hermione.

Hermione went to one of the corners and looked down. She'd been on the top before, but somehow, being there with Draco was different. "It's so beautiful."

Draco stood beside her, his gaze falling on her. He couldn't agree more.

"Have you been up here?" she asked.

"No, actually." He glanced at her. "I've always wanted to though. Usually my trips to Paris are for business."

"I just love this city," she hummed. "I don't know exactly why, I can't express it, but there's something magical about it."

He wanted to say that anything could be magical when she was around, but he stopped himself, mentally groaning. She'd wonder about his sanity if he started spouting off that love-sick puppy crap. Then the sun broke from behind a cloud, spreading its golden light over the city and bathing her face in its rays. The light, the moment, the air, the city …. It was absolutely perfect.

Draco leaned against the railing and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. It didn't hold, so he tried again. On the third try, she looked at him, and he knew right then that something was about to happen. He should have moved, broken eye contact, shattered the moment, but he was frozen, trapped by the light and her intoxicating gaze.

Suddenly his heart was pounding and his chest tightening and his nerves firing. He hadn't removed his hand from her face, and now he trailed his fingers along her jaw to her chin, which he took gently in his hand. Without any conscious thought on his part, he had lowered his head, and now he tilted her chin up and pressed his lips to hers. She didn't pull away, so he began moving his lips against hers, and when she responded, he thought he might shout for joy—if his mouth wasn't otherwise engaged.

Eons passed, fireworks exploded behind his eyes, and butterflies collided in his stomach. He was about to push his luck, to try and deepen the kiss, when he felt her tongue slide along his lips. Draco groaned, forgot where he was, lost all spatial orientation. All he could hear, think, breathe was the feel of her soft body pressed against his, her lips as they danced with his.

Like a bucket of frigid water to the face, he was pulled from the moment by a loud, sneering voice.

"Ugh! Malfoy, no one wants to watch that!"

Draco pulled away, the situation crashing around him, to find Ron giving them both a disgusted look.

"I know you two kiss—it's inevitable, really—but I don't want to have to see it." Ron grimaced. "We need to go and get ready for tonight." He pulled Hermione with him, and she went without a word or a glance for Draco.

What had he done? How could he have let things get so out of control? He had kissed her! When there was no purpose, no one watching with a camera or a quill, ready to analyze their relationship for the masses. And Hermione …! What would she think? He refused to acknowledge that she had kissed him too, dismissing it as … well, he just dismissed it. All the blame rested on him, and now he'd potentially ruined their working relationship.

Draco followed the others, his mood dark as he considered the ramifications of his hasty, impulsive act. Worst of all, would she hate him? It was a moment of weakness, likely fueled by his near-admission the week before. Then, without seeing or hearing from her for an entire week, she shows up, absolute perfection, and he really couldn't be blamed for his actions.

The Fates were conspiring against him, he decided, because Ginny returned to their hotel with them in order to help Hermione get ready. He wouldn't be able to talk to her, though if he could, he had no idea what he would say. Maybe it was better that Ginny was there just now.

As Draco inserted the key into the door, he remembered that their things were in separate rooms. It would look strange to Ginny.

"I'll get my things out of the room first," he said, flicking his wand and moving things from his room to her room while they entered the suite.

"All right," Hermione said flatly.

He wanted to look at her, to see what was going on in her eyes, but he couldn't let on that something was amiss in front of Ginny.

Draco went into the corner room, gathered his dress robes, and returned. "All yours."

"Thanks, Malfoy!" called Ginny as she pulled Hermione along.

After the door shut, he sank into the sofa and buried his face in his hands. He pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars, then cursed. He didn't know how to fix this.

Some time later—he'd lost all sense of time—the door opened.

"Malfoy?"

He looked up and saw Ginny standing outside the room, watching him. "What?" Panic ripped through him. Had Hermione told her? About the kiss? About their plan? No, that was absurd, she wouldn't do that just because he'd made a mistake and let his feelings for her take control of his good sense.

"Come on, Hermione," the redhead coaxed, motioning for her to come into the room.

When she finally did, seeing her like that, an indescribable, perfect vision, did nothing for his resolution. The dress, her hair, the subtle tinges of color on her cheeks, eyes and lips …. Draco had never seen anything more beautiful. His brain had shut down, his thoughts had abandoned him. All he could do was stare.

Ginny chuckled and grabbed Hermione's hand. "You can't have her until after the party," she teased. "We'll see you there."

That snapped him to attention. "What?"

"I'm going to help Ginny get ready," Hermione said.

"Oh, right. Later, then," he blurted.

"Speaking of getting ready," said Ginny with a smirk. "You might want to think about starting."

Draco scowled at the woman's back until she and Hermione had gone.

**ooo**

"You okay?" Ginny asked as Hermione tended to her hair.

"Yes, why?" she replied absently.

"You and Malfoy seemed … strange." Ginny hesitated. "Maybe I'm just imagining things."

"He and I are fine," Hermione said, smiling at her friend in the mirror. "We're great."

"If you say so," said Ginny, returning to her magazine.

Hermione could still feel the explosions in her gut whenever she thought about the kiss. She'd been staring out over the city, thrilled that she was sharing the moment with him, even though they were only friends. A wave of melancholy had swirled in her mind just as he had tried to brush her hair out of her face. He'd failed, twice, and she had glanced up at him.

His face had been much closer than she'd expected, and his eyes had been fathomless, gazing at her with an intensity she'd never seen from him. Her heart had immediately started racing; it was the perfect moment for a kiss. Just when she'd reminded herself that nothing of the kind could possibly happen, it did.

Draco's lips, his amazing lips, had descended on hers, and she'd been completely lost. It was different than the previous kisses; something had changed. It wasn't for show, for the benefit of some reporter with an eye on a front-page story. There had been no one around but her friends, and she highly doubted he was doing it for their benefit.

He had kissed her! Out of the blue. For no reason. And it had been the most amazing kiss of her life.

"Hermione Granger, I haven't seen you grin like that since … ever!" Ginny exclaimed.

"So?" she said, putting the finishing touches on Ginny's hair.

"Talk," Ginny demanded, turning to face her friend. "Now. No excuses, I want details. All of them, sordid and kinky and sweet."

Hermione blushed. "No! We don't have time for that."

Ginny's eyes widened. "So there are lots of details then? Excellent!"

"You two ready to go?" asked Harry, barging into the room. "We need to leave in ten minutes."

"Yes," said Ginny, pouting at Hermione.

"Good. Let's go now. Ron's in the other room, waiting." Harry left without waiting for a response.

"We are going to finish this later," Ginny informed her, as Hermione followed him out of the room.

**ooo**

For the party, the display cases and shelves had been pushed to the wall, allowing room for a dance floor, small stage, and a few tables covered with food. The party lively, not surprising considering it was hosted by George Weasley. Hermione quickly learned that food on the tables was generally safe, but that she had to be careful about accepting food from the waiters who walked around carrying trays covered with enticing treats. One guest started clucking like a chicken, and another sprouted yellow feather in her hair.

Hermione had just excused herself from one group when Draco found her. He smiled nervously as he approached and her heart skipped. When he stopped beside her, she became quickly frustrated that he didn't touch her, not even allowing his arm to brush hers.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"I am," she replied, surprised that she could function coherently with him so infuriatingly close and yet much too far away. "You?"

He shrugged. "It's a business party."

"I suppose you've been to hundreds," she remarked.

"Unfortunately, they're all pretty much the same," he said, sighing. "Fancy clothes, fancy food, incessant small talk no one wants to hear …. Although, it is better than the parties my parents throw."

"Oh?" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and her heart skipped again. Merlin, he was so handsome! Completely irresistible and—

"For one thing, there are no Death Eaters here. Except myself, of course," he amended quickly.

"You're not a Death Eater," she scolded lightly.

Draco glanced at his glass, the wine almost gone. "Also, people are laughing. I'm not used to that. Most occasions hosted at Malfoy Manor are solemn and rigid."

"I take it you don't have much fun at them," she mused.

He chuckled darkly. "Since the war, they've been tolerable. Before and during … let's just say I know you wouldn't find anything 'fun' about them."

Hermione shuddered at the thought of what he might have witnessed.

"I must apologize for my behavior when I saw you last," he said, avoiding her gaze. "I was momentarily rendered speechless, and I feel it incumbent upon me to make it up to you."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, fearful that he was apologizing for the kiss. Not only did she not want him to, but this was hardly the place to have such a discussion.

Draco looked into her eyes then, his own soft and oddly vulnerable. "I've long run out of words, but I shall attempt to express myself anyway." He took a deep breath. "You continue to take my breath away, Hermione."

How was it possible that she could feel so many things—light-headed, flattered, beautiful, important, and adored—from one sentence? A sentence spoken by a man she wasn't actually dating, even though she was completely enamored of him.

She was about to reply when George called for attention.

"Thank you, one and all, for coming to our celebration tonight! Our first day of business at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in France has been a tremendous success!" The attendees—the who's-who of wizarding society in England and Paris, all the Weasleys save Arthur and Molly, who were at home watching the grandchildren, plus anyone George fancied inviting—applauded.

"My brother …." He trailed off and Hermione's heart clenched. "Fred would have loved this. Now, to thank some people who made this possible. First, my partner—and brother—Ron. Come here, ickle-Ronnie."

Ron, red-faced and glowering, joined George, who threw an arm over his shoulder and grinned.

"Next, what business can survive and grow without money? That's where this next bloke comes in. Malfoy!"

Draco cursed under his breath, downed his wine, and sourly left Hermione. As soon as he was gone, Hermione felt someone gently grab her elbow, and she turned to find Charlie looking at her intensely.

"Hermione, could uh … could we talk?" he whispered in her ear.

"Sure," she said, grateful that Draco's back was still to them. Charlie took her wrist and led her out of the shop. Once outside, he let go, and they walked away from the windows so no one would see.

"You look amazing tonight," he said softly.

"Thanks." Her heart was pounding from nervousness over what he wanted to say. She had a feeling, but after everything that had happened, she wasn't ready for it. For some reason, the kiss from Draco, while spectacular and heart-stopping, had set her teetering on the edge—of what, she didn't know.

But everything she'd thought she knew about Draco, about their relationship, had flown out the window, and she was left reeling in its wake. Draco was an unknown, he was a risk. Charlie was safe.

She wished that she'd been able to talk to Draco before having this conversation with Charlie, but now that was impossible.

Charlie stopped and dragged a hand through his thick hair. "Look, Hermione. I know my timing is rotten, you're with Draco, but it's seeing you so happy with him that's forced my hand."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Am I too late?" he asked, his voice laced with pain. "I love you, Hermione. I always have; that's never changed."

Hermione let out her breath very slowly, trying to calm her nerves. Finally, after two years, she was hearing the words she'd dreamt about ever since their break-up, and it affected her, more than she could have anticipated. Her emotions were already all over the place, and this was just one more thing to add to the mix.

"I'm sorry I let so much time pass without trying to make things right between us. I'm sorry it's taken … _this_ to make me see. I took for granted that you'd always be around." He huffed with impatience. "I'm upset with myself, Hermione, because the thought of losing you is tearing me apart. Please, just … tell me. Am I too late?"

His clear, blue eyes were desperate, pleading. This moment would define her path for years to come, if not the rest of her life. Hermione's heart threatened to burst through her chest as she drew a shaky breath, not sure what answer she should give.

**ooo**

"What do you say?" asked Ron, grinning lazily.

"Yeah, Malfoy, it'll be fun!" exclaimed Ginny, hopping a little in the balls of her feet.

He chuckled. "How can I say no?"

"Excellent!" said Harry. "We barely saw anything today, and I'd really like to explore the city a bit more."

"We'll have to adjust our transportation back to England," said Ginny. "But that's easily done."

"We have to ask Hermione," Ron remarked.

"I'm almost positive she'll say yes," Ginny assured them. "Right, Draco?"

The use of his given name shocked him for a moment. "I've learned never to try and speak for her."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you're whipped. Ask her?"

"I will," Draco insisted. Then the three left and he chuckled, swirling his wine glass. He tipped it back, and when he was finished, he was surprised to find Hermione standing in front of him. She looked … troubled. "Hello," he said with a smile. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, here and there," she replied. "Just came from speaking with Gabrielle."

"I haven't seen much of you tonight." The wine must be affecting him somehow; Draco normally wouldn't have let on that he noticed, much less cared.

"Can we leave?" she asked quickly.

Her face was still troubled, and he frowned. "You want to leave with me?"

"I came with you," she said. "Well, technically, I arrived with Harry, Ginny, and Ron, but I'm _here_ with you."

"Right. Yes, we can leave." Her expression was beginning to concern him, so he made a hasty exit after saying quick good-byes to George and Ron.

They were both quiet on the walk back to the hotel. Hermione's thoughts were spinning with what she was going to say to Draco, trying to anticipate his responses. Her silence concerned Draco, and he was rather morose when they reached the hotel. He thought he knew what she was thinking: the kiss was a mistake and should never have happened.

Draco let them in and then started shrugging out of his clothes. First the cloak, then his outer robes, then his tie and shoes.

Hermione remained just inside the door, watching. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I'd turn in," he answered.

"Draco, I think we should talk."

He stopped his activity and sighed, leaning against a wall opposite where she stood. "Talk about what?"

Her eyes widened. "Talk about _what_? You can't be serious."

He shrugged disinterestedly, ignoring the dread that had crept into his heart.

She huffed. "Fine. We need to discuss what happened earlier. Between us." He seemed so … distant, and she wondered if he wasn't regretting the kiss.

"Oh. That." He drew in a deep breath. "Fine. But allow me to speak first, and I'd appreciate no interruptions."

Hermione frowned, but conceded.

"Thank you." He paused, attempting to gather his thoughts into something coherent, but only one thing stood out at that moment. "To start, let me just say …. I'm not sorry."

"What?" she breathed, bewildered.

"I'm not sorry for kissing you, and there's nothing you can say or do that will make me sorry," he replied defiantly. "I've wanted to do that for a very long time, and I don't regret it for an instant. I'd do it again a thousand times. In fact, I would very much like to do it again. Right now."

Hermione stared at him, gob smacked. Whatever she'd thought he might say, that hadn't been it. Even though he'd initiated the kiss, she didn't expect him to admit that …. He'd wanted to do it for a long time? Would like to do it again? "Draco—"

"Let me finish, please," he said stiffly. "I realize my confession is the last thing you're interested in hearing, but there it is. I understand that this could never work between us, and I suggest we put the matter behind us and move forward. We're both adults; I think we can still work together."

He'd said so many things she didn't know where to start. "What do you mean, this could never work?" She crossed her arms.

Finally he met her gaze, and it hurt her to see his expression was empty, almost bored. "I watched you all night, Hermione. The looks you gave him couldn't be misconstrued. It was obvious to anyone who cared to pay attention that you're still in love with Charlie Weasley."

"Draco—"

He sighed. "It's not like I didn't know. I sensed something between you two the first day we met at the Quidditch game. Those pictures in the magazine really were worth a thousand words. He's in love with you, you know." Draco stopped, his voice almost betraying the emotions that were raging through him. He'd confessed … a desire to kiss her, certainly, but she would have to know he wanted more. But none of that mattered.

"Yes, I know," she said quietly.

Draco blinked. "He told you?"

Hermione nodded, shivering, and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. Draco's mask had fallen and his voice was pained.

"When?" he breathed.

"Tonight. How did you know?" she asked.

"He told me," Draco replied listlessly. "Last week. He came with George and Ron to a meeting with the purpose of apologizing to me for that night he asked you out." Well, he had to hand it to the older man. He'd followed through with his intentions and told Hermione the truth.

"He did?" Hermione was stunned.

Draco nodded. "He asked if he was too late, but really, I wasn't the person to ask. I told him so."

Hermione slumped against the door, overwhelmed at the revelations of the day. "He used those words," she said.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Finally Draco pushed himself off the wall and went to the kitchen for a bottle of scotch. After one shot, he poured another.

"I wish you wouldn't drink so much," Hermione muttered from her spot by the door.

Draco chuckled darkly. "I'll quit once it's all over." He downed the second drink and exhaled. "So what now? How would you like to proceed?" Leaving the kitchen, he returned to the wall where he'd been before. "Actually, I think we could manage an amiable break-up where we remain friends. At least until we've completed our task."

Hermione whipped her head up to look at him. "Break-up?"

"Yes, break-up. It's fine with me; you can be with your Weasley—"

"I don't want to be!" she cried, cutting him off.

He snapped his mouth shut and stared at her as though he'd never seen her before. "What?"

She straightened and pushed off from the wall, crossing the room to him. "I don't want to be with Charlie," she said. "I told him so tonight. Whatever I felt for him is … gone. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"Oh." His voice was strangled and suddenly his entire body was aware that she was now only a few feet away, close enough to reach out and pull her flush against him and—

"It just happened," she continued, stepping closer. "It's … you, Draco. I'm not sorry you kissed me either, and I'm not sorry I kissed you back. My only regret is that Ron interrupted us. I want you to kiss me again, even though I might explode, I don't care, I …."

She was so close he could smell the hair products Ginny had used. Hesitantly, as though afraid she would take it all back and laugh at him and Charlie would pop out from behind the sofa and whisk her away, Draco reached for her arm. He closed his hand around it and lightly pulled her toward him. She complied easily, and he snaked his arm around her waist, removing the pesky inches that remained between them.

The feel of her flush against him, of her soft curves on his hard lines, was dizzying. Draco wrapped his other arm around her, relishing the feel of her bare back, splaying his hand between her shoulder blades, desperate for as much contact as possible. All the while, he couldn't look her in the eye. If he did, there was no doubt in his mind he would lose himself completely, and he wanted to memorize this moment, the feel of her, the smell, the taste….

Her heart was thudding against his chest as she gazed up at him, and it thrilled him. Draco leaned in and kissed her cheek, inhaling deeply. Then he trailed kisses down her neck, and she tilted her head, allowing him better access. When he reached her collarbone, he continued along the line it formed until he reached her throat. She shivered.

"Draco," she breathed, her voice full and heady. "Please."

He gazed into her eyes, so full of want and longing and desire. "Please what?"

"Kiss me," she commanded, encircling his neck with her arms and drawing his face toward hers.

Suddenly the reality of what was about to happen hit him. This was _Hermione_, the woman he'd fallen in love with in a little over a month, who happened to be completely clueless as to the depths of his feelings. This was exactly what he had forbidden for himself, and even though they had gained a lot of ground, they weren't really any closer to discovering the blackmailer's identity. He couldn't give in, not when he was so close. Though, denying himself of her delights might be the end of him.

Draco briefly covered her lips with his, but the kiss remained as chaste as their first at the Quidditch game. He pulled back quickly and untangled her arms from around his neck.

Hermione was shocked, to say the least, and definitely a little hurt. "What?"

He smiled warmly. "There are … things I feel we should discuss before we do something rash."

"Rash?" she repeated, incredulous. "You said you've wanted to kiss me for a long time, and I've certainly wanted to kiss you for just as long. How is that rash?"

Draco gave her a heated look. "Forgive me. My intentions moved past kissing the instant I touched you."

Her heart leapt erratically, her breathing uneven. Hermione had wanted a repeat of the kiss earlier that day, without interruption, but if she thought about it, very likely they wouldn't have stopped until they'd had their absolute fill of each other. She still wasn't certain she didn't want exactly that.

"Draco—"

"Don't," he pleaded softly. "This is important. You deserve to know what you're getting into. That is, if that's what you want…."

"I want you," she said firmly.

Her words and tone did nothing for his already shaky resolve.

"I want exactly what we've been pretending to have," she clarified. "All of it."

"Me too," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "Can we talk in the morning?"

"You're serious." His perfect lips were inches from hers; all she had to do was tilt her head ….

"I am." Draco pulled away. "Though it's killing me not to sweep you into my arms and have my way with you all night. If I don't wake up, you'll know why."

She gave him a tiny smile. "Then I'd have that on my head the rest of my life. Draco Malfoy, abstinence killed him."

"Merlin," he breathed, nearing her once more. She really would give herself to him! It was a staggering realization, and he concluded that he was completely insane to be so insistent that they wait.

This time, Hermione backed off. "If it's that important to you, then we will talk first. Only…."

She trailed off, and he looked at her expectantly. "What is it?"

"Are we, um …? Are we together now?" She bit her lip in nervous anticipation.

Draco studied her carefully. "Yes," he said, fighting the sheer panic that gripped him as he said it.

"Good." She smiled.

"We'll talk over breakfast," Draco said. "Your friends wanted to continue exploring Paris tomorrow, and I was supposed to ask you if you wanted to join them."

"Will you be there?"

"I did say I would be there," he answered, wishing he hadn't given a definite confirmation.

"Then I'd love to."

He couldn't fight the smile that tugged on his lips. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Night," she said, watching him enter the bedroom where he'd been staying. As soon as his door closed, she burst into a grin and spun once on her heel. Then she laughed at herself for the juvenile behavior and crossed to her own room.

As Hermione lay snuggled under the covers, she couldn't stop grinning. She had no regrets whatsoever about her choice, a fact which would take some getting used to. After thinking for years that she would marry Charlie, she felt a little disoriented; something she had taken as a given was no longer an option, and she didn't even want it back.

Eventually, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

Draco, on the other hand, had a difficult time falling asleep. He had a lot to think through before talking to Hermione, and whenever he'd get frustrated by his thoughts, he'd seriously contemplate crossing to her room and picking up where he'd stopped them earlier. But he never did, instead tossing and turning all night.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you liked this one. Beta thanks are due to pokeystar and drcjsnider. Playlist by inadaze22. The awesome manips were done by moonjameskitten. See you next week! Chapter title taken from a song of the same name by Maroon 5.


	20. Brand New Day

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Poll Update: **Blaise remains in strong control of the lead, followed distantly by Caleb, then Lucius. Eliminated this week: The remaining Notts, Bradford and Theodore. This is the LAST WEEK of the poll! Which can only mean that we'll be learning the identity of the blackmailer soon.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter ****20 - - Brand New Day**

**- - -**

Hermione woke well-rested, and it took her a few seconds to remember what had transpired the night before. She lightly touched her lips, remembering the feel of his pressed against them. The room was bright with the morning sun, and with a nervous rush, she recalled that Draco had said they would talk over breakfast.

She got out of bed quickly and threw a hotel robe over her pyjamas, hoping she hadn't slept through the entire morning.

When she reached the sitting room, no one was there, but the kitchen table was covered with food that hadn't been touched. The suite was quiet; perhaps Draco was still sleeping?

Hermione went to his door and listened, but didn't hear anything. Then she knocked softly. No answer. Feeling strangely bold, and slightly panicked, she opened it slowly.

"Draco?" she called gently.

When there was no answer, she called again, louder. Still nothing. Finally, she opened the door wide. The bed was made, and everything was perfectly in place. Her heart wrenched, thinking he had simply left, until she spotted a wedge of fabric sticking out from the closet.

Curious, she went to the closet and opened the door, exhaling in relief at the sight of Draco's clothes, hanging neatly. With a quick glance around, she grabbed the nearest shirt and brought it to her nose, and took a deep breath. It smelled just like him, and Hawthorne Inks.

Satisfied, she left his room and looked more carefully around the sitting room. When she glanced at the table, she noticed a card sitting on a plate.

_Hermione,_

_My deepest apologies for not being here when you awoke. I was called away for a meeting early this morning in London. Don't worry, it shouldn't last long__. I will return to Paris soon, hopefully in time to join you for a late brunch._

_There's a stasis charm on the table, keeping everything just as it was when it arrived, should you get hungry and decide to eat._

_I told your friends to go ahead__ and that we would join them later. See you soon._

_Draco_

She checked the clock on the microwave: 9:40. How long ago had he left? She had a sinking suspicion that he wouldn't be returning for a while. Though she was disappointed, she reminded herself to be understanding as well. Draco worked more than anyone she knew, wizard or Muggle, and he was bound to be required to attend spur of the moment meetings. It was his company, after all.

Well, there was nothing for it. Hermione decided to get ready for the day, and if he wasn't back by the time she was finished, she would eat without him. They could always talk over lunch.

She set about selecting something to wear, then headed into the bathroom for a shower. When she had finished, she told herself not to get her hopes up, that he probably wouldn't be back yet, but it didn't really help. Her heart still fell a little when she returned to the sitting room to discover it exactly as she'd left it, no Draco in sight.

"Fine," she said, collecting a book from her room and sitting at the food laden table. There was a bowl of fresh fruit, a basket of croissants, a plate of crepes, butter, sugar, tea, cheese, and much more. Hermione smiled at his thoughtfulness and tucked in.

Draco didn't return until almost noon. Hermione had gone to the market nearby and purchased some flowers for the room, then opened the windows and settled onto the sofa to read.

When the door opened, she sat up quickly, momentarily forgetting that she was expecting someone.

He looked exhausted as he entered and didn't notice her right away. He tugged off his outer layer, walked straight to the kitchen, and poured himself a cup of coffee. After sipping from it once, he saw her.

"Morning," he said, smiling tiredly.

"Just about afternoon, really," she returned, hopping off the sofa.

"I'm sorry," he groaned. "The meeting went longer than I expected."

"They always do," she said cheerfully. "You all right? I mean no offense, but you look awful."

Draco chuckled and finished his coffee. "Didn't sleep much."

"Oh." The wheels in her head started spinning. Did he regret what had happened? Did he want to take it back? Did he—

"Don't start over-analyzing, Hermione," Draco scolded lightly. "I told you there were things to discuss, and that's what my mind was on for too late last night. I had no idea I'd get a call at seven in the morning, demanding my presence."

"What was it? Is everything all right?" she asked.

"It's fine. At least, it will be. Business matters, nothing interesting, I assure you." His eyes darted to the table. "I'm starved though. Skipped breakfast and all I could get all morning was a couple slices of toast."

"Then eat," she told him.

"Will you be joining me?" he asked, taking a seat.

Hermione sat across from him and took another croissant. "I've had breakfast recently, so I'm not all that hungry."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Draco eating and Hermione worrying. She was glad she hadn't ordered any food; she wouldn't be able to eat it until they'd talked and gotten through … whatever was on his mind.

"You're tapping," he commented, a playful gleam in his eyes.

"Sorry," she said, setting the spoon back on the table and folding her hands in her lap.

Draco sighed. "All right. I said we'd talk over breakfast, didn't I?"

"I believe so." Hermione had no idea what to prepare herself for, but she tried anyway. To no avail; her heart was still racing nervously.

"I have been thinking," he said slowly. "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

She forced her breathing to remain calm and even, but inside she was screaming at him. Naturally, after he stopped their progress the night before, she wondered if he would back out, but he had also seemed so pleased. It had been obvious that he wanted her, so she refused to dwell on negative thoughts.

"What do you mean?" she asked flatly.

Draco glanced up, meeting her eyes. His were hard and unyielding. "Merely an observation."

"So you want to … end things now, when they've barely even started?" Her voice was tinged with anger.

They stared at each other until Draco finally sighed, tossing his bread on his plate and leaning back in his chair. "No. I just …. I want to give you the information and let you decide if this, if I, am really what you want."

"You are." The conviction in her tone was strengthening.

"You don't have all the facts," Draco pressed on. "There are things I feel obligated to tell you about me. I'm resigned to the fact that you won't like what you hear, that you might decide you're better off without me."

"Why are you so intent on killing this before it has a chance?" she demanded.

He scowled. "I'm not. My … feelings for you, my respect for you, demand that I be up front about some things. Would you rather find out in six months, a year?"

"There's nothing you could say that would change my mind, I'm sure of it," she declared defiantly.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Nothing?"

"Well, fine. Nothing short of confessing that you've got twenty bodies buried in the back garden, or something similar."

"It's nothing like that, no," he replied.

Hermione hesitantly reached over the table and covered his hand with hers. "Then … just trust me, okay?"

Again, he peered into her eyes, wanting to believe her more than anything. Maybe she was strong enough to deal with him, with his life and his past, but he wanted to clear the air from the beginning.

"Hermione, this isn't a reflection on you. This is me, wanting to be open with you. Always. I made a promise to myself in the very beginning never to lie to you, and I haven't." She blinked in surprise, and he continued. "By not telling you what I want to tell you, I would consider it a lie by omission. All I ask is that you listen, and if you decide my concerns are bollocks, then fine."

"All right," she sighed. "I suppose that's fair."

"Thank you." Draco withdrew his hand so that he could stand and pace as he spoke. "First on the list. I'm not good with relationships. I haven't had one in over six years."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Really? I thought you were just very discrete and didn't let anyone know."

"No," he said. "When I was nineteen, I'd just gotten a handle on the business. Finally learned what it was all about, thought I could deal with it. There was a woman I had always been attracted to, and I worked up the courage to ask her out. She accepted, and before long … relationship."

It didn't escape Hermione's notice that he'd said he'd always been attracted to the woman, and jealousy twisted inside her. She scolded herself; it had been over six years!

"It was a disaster," he said, chuckling wryly. "To put it mildly. I was still quite arrogant and thought I could do it all: have the business, the woman, the life. Things were great for … about six months. I don't know how my father managed—of course, he didn't have someone blackmailing him for outrageous sums, either. I let the business fall, spending more and more time with her."

He was frowning, pacing furiously, his hands clasped behind his back. "Suddenly, there was a crisis at work, and my presence was required. A lot. Far more than she was used to. I ended up spending days in a row in the office, not leaving except to attend to more business matters. I'd work until I couldn't keep my eyes open, then crash on the sofa."

Draco poured himself another cup of coffee. "She didn't like it, but there was nothing I could do. Absolutely nothing. My hands were completely tied; the business came first. It was my life, my livelihood, the means to keeping the blackmailer at bay, though of course I couldn't tell her the truth. I had no choice, but she didn't see it that way. She thought I cared more about the business than I did her." He grimaced. "In a way, I suppose she was right, but it doesn't change the fact that I would make the same decision a thousand times over."

When he looked at Hermione, she was listening, interested, but there was skepticism in her eyes.

"After she broke up with me—not that I can blame her—I vowed not to enter into a relationship again until my father was back in charge."

"What?" she gasped.

Draco nodded. "Why? What would be the point? I would never be able to devote enough time and energy to it. Whoever I might date would always come second, and I knew it. The business came first; it was the only way to preserve my sanity. Every day, the only thing getting me out of bed was the knowledge that I was one day closer to being released from my personal hell."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "But I saw so many pictures of you with women."

He smiled bitterly. "And we arrive at point two. You're right, there have been a lot of women. The arrangement was simple: they agreed to attend important functions with me, I made sure to thank them for their time."

Confusion flitted across her face briefly. "Oh."

"Right. Oh. I never lied to any of them, never led them on. They knew exactly what they were agreeing to, and if they wanted more—which some of them invariably did—I ended the association."

"So, what, you've just got some book full of women that you can call at the drop of a hat for a shag?" she fumed. "Not to mention Carrie, your regular tart."

Anger swept over him, but he wouldn't let it take control. "I am not going to apologize to you for my past. I merely want you to know the truth. As I said, you are free to decide you don't want me, after all."

She was livid, but when she forced herself to be rational and honest, it was mostly out of jealousy. He'd been with countless women, gorgeous, model-type women. Why on earth would he want her?

"Why do you want me?" she asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Draco's entire demeanor changed. He crossed to her, pulled his chair around to face her, and took her hand. Looking her in the eye, he said, "As I told you last night. You've stolen my breath, and my heart, and I'm entirely captivated by you."

"You could have anyone," she protested.

"An exaggeration, and besides, I don't want anyone else," he insisted. "I never have. I have plenty of female acquaintances, and not one of them has ever tempted me to go back on my vow. You … Merlin, there are no words to adequately express myself. The first time I saw you, that day at the pitch, I was drawn to you. I can't possibly explain it. But I never would have acted on it."

"Why not?" she asked, frowning.

"You certainly aren't someone I could just add to my little book, are you?" He smiled.

"Not a chance!" she cried, trying to pull her hand from his.

Draco held tight. "It never even crossed my mind, Hermione. I had made that promise to myself and wasn't going to break it. I refused to think about my future until I'd returned full control to my father. I would have gone mad otherwise."

"It wasn't because of my blood, or heritage?" she ventured.

His face softened. "No. I swear to you. How could I possibly …? When I learned about the business, what my father did …. He gave me those values, of pureblood superiority, but then I discovered that he only used them when it suited him! How could I possibly continue to hold to them? It would make me a bloody hypocrite, just like him! I wanted no part of that."

"So you admit it's all rubbish."

"Absolutely." He smiled again. "Completely and utterly."

She returned the smile, until a thought occurred to her. "You're breaking your word now, aren't you?"

Draco stood again and resumed pacing. "Yes. And I don't think it's a good idea."

"Draco, you've shown that you can handle a relationship and work. True, the relationship wasn't real, but why can't you make the transition?"

"That's just it," he said, frustrated with himself and the situation. "I've been handling it, yes, but barely. The time I've taken to spend with you, going out, visiting friends, has taken its toll. I work harder than ever, sleep less, eat less …."

"We don't have to see each other quite so much," Hermione said, though her heart was shouting at her to stay silent. She wanted to see more of him, not less!

He ran a hand through his hair, fisting it on the crown of his head. "It's not so simple …. Here. Take today for example. I had a meeting this morning. Emergency meetings aren't common, but they do happen. I had to leave you here, explaining my absence with a note. I had no idea when I'd be done, and all through the meeting, I was thinking of you."

She smiled, but that only frustrated him more. He stopped to lean against the counter. "I can't be thinking of you during meetings! I'm supposed to focus on why I'm there. Listen to reports. I am the one who has the make the final decisions! I need to know everything before I can do that, and if I'm daydreaming instead, I'm going to mess up."

"Everyone messes up, Draco."

"Yes, but their mistakes don't cost millions of Galleons," he said bitterly. "I have to be sharp. I live on coffee and my modified Pepper-Up. Sometimes I take alertness potions. It … I hate it, but it's my life."

"Maybe I can help," she offered.

He studied her intently. "Of all the people I know, I believe you actually could," he admitted. "But that's not what I want either. You deserve so much more. I sat there this morning, thinking of you when I shouldn't have been. Then I realized that the worst part was that I didn't even want to be there in the first place! I wanted to be right here, with you, when you woke up this morning. You deserve someone who can be there when you need him."

"Draco, stop." She held up a hand. "You're being absurd. I don't expect you to be there for every little thing. I have friends I can rely on, my parents."

"I want to be that person, though," he insisted. "I want to be the one you go to first, the one you tell all the insignificant details of your day. But that's not possible!"

"No, it's not," she agreed. "Not right now. I have responsibilities too, if you recall. I teach classes all day every day. In the evenings, I have meetings and rounds. Besides, we'll be done with this blackmailer soon, you'll return the company to your father, and then you'll be free." She smiled warmly, but something in her heart started nagging her. He would be free, and he needed his period of irresponsibility. Otherwise, he would wake up one day in the future and just bolt. She didn't want to be the one he left behind.

"But that's what a relationship is," he pressed. "Sharing the little things. Am I wrong?"

"Not exactly, but Draco, relationships are also about being the one unchanging, solid thing in a person's world. So what if I can't tell you about how Neville successfully bred a cross between a mandrake and devil's snare? If I need you, you'll be there. I just know it."

"Yes," he agreed. "I will. But I think we should wait until this is done."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you honestly think that's even possible?"

"Why not?"

"After last night?" She chuckled. "It's taking a considerable amount of restraint not to kiss you right now. Imagine what would happen if we try and force ourselves to not act on this thing between us. For months, potentially! It'll only blow up in our faces."

She had a point there. He hadn't been able to think clearly enough the day before to stop himself from kissing her, and now that he knew she wanted to kiss him, that she was willing to give herself to him …. Right. That would never work.

He grinned sheepishly. "Point taken."

"Look, Draco. I understand your concerns, and I respect you tremendously for them." At his surprised look, she continued. "It takes a very selfless person to do what you've done, put your entire life on hold, for the business. For your family. I don't want to make it any harder. But I do want to be able to kiss you whenever I get the notion."

"I can hardly complain about that." He sighed. "I'm getting extremely impatient for this blackmailing business to be done with!"

"I know you are," she said sympathetically, wishing she felt comfortable enough to wrap her arms around him. "You know, I forgot that I get a research firm out of this!"

Draco's smile was almost … proud. "That's right. You do."

"But wait," she said. "What about you father? Surely he won't be thrilled with the idea."

"It's already taken care of," he assured her. "I'll be retaining control over that small segment of the company after relinquishing the rest to my father. If he tries to object, I will remind him of what I've done for him. He owes me."

"I thought you wanted no part of the business once your father took over." She frowned, watching him carefully. "You said you didn't enjoy the work you do, that you're good at it, but it's not natural."

"I don't!" he insisted. "No, no. My name will be on the papers, but you'll have control. I mean, someday, I'll take over again, when Father retires, but that won't be for another fifty or sixty years. Until then, I can do something I really enjoy."

Hermione stood from the chair and poured herself a cup of coffee. Draco motioned for her to follow him into the sitting room, which she did, half-sitting on the arm of the sofa.

Draco stood a few feet from her, hands in his pockets, and smirked. "Who knows? Maybe my wife will be into that kind of thing, and she can run the business."

Hermione's heart jumped at his sexy expression and the word 'wife.' Of course, he wasn't talking about her, but she was the only woman in his life. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? She can run things while you get to play?"

He crossed the small space between them to stand very close. "She'd have to enjoy planning things, scheduling things, meetings, bossing people around …. Come to think of it, that sounds like something you'd enjoy."

She swatted his arm playfully. "Draco Malfoy, are you asking me to marry you?"

He laughed at that, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "No. Not today."

His nearness was making it difficult to concentrate. "Are those all of your objections then?"

"I suppose," he said, his tone displeased.

"Good. Then I have one question."

He took a step back. "Sure. Anything."

Hermione bit her lip nervously. "All right. Well … who was the woman you dated six years ago?"

Draco blinked in astonishment and took another step back. "You can't be serious."

She shrugged, looking pleadingly at him.

"Why in Merlin's name would you want to know that?" he asked, frowning.

"Don't be upset," she admonished. "It's just … it sounded like you knew her."

"Of course I knew her, Hermione," he quipped. "But it was six years ago! What possible relevance could it have to us?"

"I mean, it sounded as though you had known her for a while. Before you started dating. I just wondered … was it Pansy?"

He scowled. "No. I have never been romantically interested in Pansy. Maybe I should have a bloody sign made that floats over my head, flashing and repeating that."

"Okay, okay. It wasn't Pansy," she said.

When he looked at her, she wouldn't meet his eyes. "Tell me the truth. Why do you want to know?"

"If you knew her before, then perhaps I know her, and … I'd just like to know, okay?" she huffed, frustrated. "I can't explain it."

"This had better not be some oddly placed form of jealousy," he warned. When she still wouldn't look at him, he let out his breath in exasperation. "You cannot be serious! It was ages ago! I certainly don't retain even one iota of those feelings. And besides, you're one to talk. I know very well the last man _you_ were in love with, who happens to still be in love with you!"

"I chose you!" she exclaimed.

His breathing was ragged. "Was it a difficult decision? Did I win out by mere inches?"

"No! Stop it! There was no decision, not really. Look, this woman, whoever she is, knows we're together. If I were to encounter her on the street, I would rather know she had a history with you, rather than find out from her. I don't think that's asking too much!"

"It was six bloody years ago," he said, drawing each word out.

"Are you afraid to tell me?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Draco rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Now who's being absurd? Fine, I'll tell you. But don't blame me if it blows up in your face."

She nodded. "Fine."

He felt oddly deflated. It didn't matter; his ex-girlfriend didn't matter. The only person he cared about was Hermione. If telling her this tidbit of information would put her at ease, then why wouldn't he do it? He supposed he was slightly afraid, that she would find some reason to hold it against him, or bring it up, and he resolved never to mention Charlie Weasley's name during a fight.

"Fine. It was Daphne Greengrass."

Hermione stared at him, processing the information. "She's beautiful."

Draco sighed in impatience. "She has nothing on you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scolded. "We both know that's not true. Do you still see her?"

"Occasionally," he replied.

"Has she ever been one of the witches in your little book?" she asked, feeling overwhelmed. Daphne was even prettier than Pansy, and according to Ron, now had 'huge knockers.'

"No."

"How many of those witches are there?"

Draco neared her again. "I can tell you how many mattered."

"None?" she guessed.

"Correct," he smirked, tapping her nose with his finger. "I admit, I'm rather confused by this sudden insecurity of yours. I don't understand it. We've had a wonderful time together so far, we've gotten along well, never a moment of awkwardness between us …."

"It's all been fake," she muttered. "Now that it comes to a real relationship, I'm second-guessing myself and everything between us."

Draco dragged a hand through his hair. "Confession time. I told you that I was drawn to you the first time we met. Again. When I saw you in that white dress …. Merlin, Hermione. It took no effort on my part to act as though I liked you. I did. As I got to know you better, those feelings multiplied, and then yesterday, I couldn't stop myself from kissing you."

"So …. All those things you said to me, you meant them?"

"I can't recall every one, but yes, I did," he said, taking her half-full mug out of her hand and setting it on the coffee table. "I've meant every word. I told you as much."

"When you said I was beautiful?" she asked, her voice hitching oddly.

"What have I told you about fishing for compliments from me?" he chided. "I said everything."

Hermione smiled. After telling herself for weeks that nothing he did or said meant anything, it was hard to accept.

"I gave of myself to that relationship as though it was real, and it wasn't long before I started wanting it to be real."

She laughed, amazed at their similar predicaments. "Me too!"

Draco smirked and stepped all the way to the sofa, inches from her. "There's one thing I need to tell you before I snog you senseless."

"Oh?" She swallowed hard, unable to take her eyes off his lips. "What's that?"

"When I was doing research for all of this, I asked Blaise to do a little information-gathering for me," he told her.

Her eyes flitted to his. "What?"

"I'm sure that's why he told you to watch out for me."

"What kinds of things did he tell you?" Hermione asked.

Draco shrugged. "Your favorite books, colors, flowers, a list of the journals you subscribed to …. Things like that."

She crossed her arms, despite the distance it added between them. "And how much of this information did you use?"

"The flowers, for sure." He gently pried her arms apart and moved them to her sides. "I subscribed to all the same journals as you, plus ordered back editions for five years. I had to learn what I could use to get you to work with me."

She gasped, and he smirked.

"Blaise thinks you can't trust me, that I'm up to no good where you're concerned." Draco leaned in, running his finger along her jaw.

"He might be on to something there," she teased. "So are we done talking about this? Did you have any more objections you'd like me to shoot down?"

"Just one," he murmured, his grey eyes intense.

"What's that?" She swallowed hard.

"I haven't kissed you today."

With that he pulled her off the sofa, wrapped his arms around her, and tilted her face to meet his. Hungry lips ravished hers, and she responded eagerly, threading a hand through his hair. She wrapped her other arm around him and pulled herself closer.

"Merlin, Granger," he whispered, his voice raw and deep.

For some inexplicable reason, hearing her surname from his perfect lips when he was kissing her lit a fire inside her, and she clutched him desperately, demanding he allow her to deepen the kiss. He complied and groaned as she slipped a hand underneath his shirt.

Then, for the second time in as many days, they were interrupted, this time by a loud knock that made them jump.

"Hey! Malfoy! Hermione! Let's go!" It was Ron.

They were frozen, arms locked around each other, and when their eyes met, Draco chuckled. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

Again, Ron knocked, harder and longer this time. "Get out of bed already! Malfoy, put some pants on—"

Hermione's eyes widened; he was shouting in the hallway!

Draco bounded across the room and opened the door.

"Oh, hey," said Ron pleasantly, showing himself in. Behind him trailed Harry and Ginny. "Everyone decent?" he asked, sticking his head around corners as though hoping to see something he shouldn't.

"Yes, Ron," said Hermione with a huff. "Why don't you come on in?"

"Thanks!" Then his gaze fell on the table, and his eyes went wide. "Well! No wonder you two wanted to stay in." He went directly to the food and started fixing a plate.

Ginny snorted. "Right, Ron. They stayed in to eat. Notice the food's hardly been touched."

"Ginny!" cried Hermione, going pink.

Draco laughed. "Help yourself, Weasley."

"No, it's time to go out," insisted Ginny.

"What have you got there, Harry?" Hermione asked her friend. He's been pouring over a book since they arrived, barely looking up to watch his feet.

"A guide book," he explained excitedly. "There's so much to do and see! No time to waste!"

"Like what?" Hermione asked, moving to look over his shoulder.

"Did you know there's a Museum of the History of Wizarding Fashion?" Ginny exclaimed.

Draco groaned. "Yes. My mother has a lifetime membership, and yes, I've been dragged through it more times than I care to count. No, I won't be returning today."

Ron laughed.

Harry continued. "There's a Quidditch museum, Astronomy museum, Museum of Wizarding Art—"

"Anything besides museums?" Ron asked.

"Looks like there's a guided tour of the underground in the Place de la Magie, used during times of persecution of wizards," Hermione read.

"Boring!" chimed Ginny. "Let's do Muggle things. Draco, show us around again, please!"

"So it's Draco now, is it?" asked Ron, joining them in the sitting room proper with a handful of bread products.

"That _is_ his name, Ron," Ginny remarked.

"Since when do we use names?" he asked, dumping the food into a bag. "You don't mind if I take this, do you?"

"No, please. Have it all," Draco said, his eyes amused.

"Hermione's been using his name for weeks now," Ginny pointed out.

Ron shrugged. "She has to; she's dating him."

Like they had on the Burrow porch, Ron's words sent a thrill through Hermione, only this time, it was real. She smiled at Draco and found him staring at her, the corner of his lips lifted. She could get used to seeing him look at her that way, like she was the prize in some great competition.

"Let's go," said Harry. "It's almost one, and we need to eat. At this rate, we'll never see anything!"

Ginny linked her arm with his. "Don't be silly. We've got plenty of time. Right, Draco?"

"Actually," he grimaced. "I'm supposed to be out of this suite already. I completely forgot to check out. Why don't you four go on, and I'll join you shortly."

"How?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione, give me your wand," Draco said, holding out his hand.

She did so without hesitation, and the fact wasn't lost on Draco. He shook his head slightly, overwhelmed by everything that had happened. He hadn't even had a spare minute to process it all, and the last thing he wanted just then was to go traipsing around Paris with Weasley and Potter.

He cast a tracking spell on her wand and returned it. "There. Now I'll be able to Apparate directly to you."

"Great," said Ron. "Let's go." He marched to the door and opened it, followed by Harry and Ginny.

"You're coming, aren't you?" Hermione asked as Draco walked her to the door.

"I need some time to think," he confessed, wavering. Then, on an impulse, he took her face in his hands and kissed her softly, sweetly. His blood was racing when he broke the kiss and he smiled. "I'll come. I'm afraid I'm addicted."

She smiled. "Good! I only want to go because you'll be there."

"Hermione! The lift is here!" called Ron.

"See you soon!" she called over her shoulder.

Draco shut the door and leaned on it, letting out his breath. He felt like a kid at Christmas: he could kiss Hermione whenever he wanted, and she would let him! He never imagined she would return his feelings, but somehow, for some reason, she did. He couldn't remember being happier, and he looked forward to his freedom even more.

**ooo**

Draco stared ahead, absently tapping his quill on the table top. Someone was talking, but the voice was monotonous and it droned on and on ….

He shook his head, placing the quill firmly on the table and sitting straight in his chair. He'd been doing it again, thinking about Hermione in the middle of a meeting. It wasn't good, but he couldn't make himself care. Fighting a groan, he reminded himself that this was exactly what he'd been worried about. However, he knew the solution wasn't to break up with her, but to force himself to focus.

The sad truth was that he'd gone four days without seeing her. Four! Sure, they'd passed longer periods without interacting, but that was all before. She was having an especially busy week at school, and he had no definite date and time when he would see her again. It was likely to drive him mad.

"What do you think, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco whipped his head up to stare at the wizard who'd spoken. "I will think about it. Please leave your reports; I'll have an answer by tomorrow."

Those present mumbled their assent, piled the reports beside him, and left the conference room. Draco dropped his head on the table. He didn't even remember what the meeting was about! Something to do with a new form of technology, Muggle of course, that would transform telecommunications. They needed to be at the forefront of that wave.

"Sir?" said Caleb from the door.

"What?" Draco asked dejectedly, his head still resting on the table.

"I have a stack of mail for you, Mr. Malfoy," he said, placing a few letters on top of the reports. "Plus the cup of coffee you requested."

"Oh, excellent," he said, lifting his head to accept the beverage. "Thank you, Caleb."

His assistant nodded and left the room. Draco took a hesitant sip of coffee and relished the warm plunge to his stomach. "I wonder what she's doing," he muttered, sorting through the mail.

Draco froze when his eyes fell on a letter sitting near the bottom of the stack. The handwriting was frightfully familiar. With a glance outside the room to make sure Caleb was nowhere around, he picked up the entire stack and headed for his office. After locking the door, he stared at the letter, his heart thumping nervously.

It seemed too soon to be getting another letter, but the blackmailer was erratic with his demands. Draco broke the seal, a plain black circle, and swallowed hard before pulling out the missive.

_You worthless piece of dragon __s---!_

_What do you think you're doing, parading around respectable people with that filth on your arm? You disgust me; you're a disgrace to your whole family. Lucius should castrate you and lock you in the dungeons where you'd survive on the crumbs he tosses you and the rats you catch with your teeth._

_If you must dally with trash, do keep it away from her betters. And for Merlin's sake, think of you mother! You'll send her to an early grave if you keep this up, you gutless whelp!_

_Another deposit. You have one week._

Draco was absolutely seething by the time he finished the short message. He crumpled the parchment in his fist, his instinct to throw it in the fire almost getting the better of him. No, Hermione would want to see this. He grimaced. Even though he'd just been wishing to see her, the circumstances surrounding their next visit were not what he would have wanted.

He went to his fireplace and tried to Floo-call her. She didn't answer, and he realized she must be in class still. Cursing, he returned to his desk and hastily scribbled a note. Draco collected his things, knowing he'd be unable to concentrate for the rest of the day.

"Caleb," he barked unintentionally as he neared the front desk.

"Yes?" replied his assistant.

"I need this message sent out on our fastest owl." He gave the letter to Caleb.

"Right away, sir."

Draco nodded curtly and then Disapparated, arriving in his bedroom. He stormed through the house to his office and tossed his briefcase on the desk. He groaned, clenching and unclenching his fists, glancing around for some outlet for his anger. Then he closed his eyes and forced the violent thoughts away. They wouldn't do him any good.

The anger was still there, however. Draco left his office and returned to his bedroom, pulling off his jacket and tie as he went. Merlin's beard, he couldn't remember ever being so upset. How dare that wanker say those things about Hermione? She was ten times—no, a hundred—infinitely the better human being than some sick, twisted, Death Eater bent on ruining his life.

He cursed and went into the closet room, pacing furiously. Then he spied the cards on the coffee table, and grabbed a bottle of Firewhisky. Drinking straight from the container, he glared at the grey cards, laid out on the surface in a grid of five by four. Each name in dark, bold print could be the tosser who'd been blackmailing him, and now had committed another infraction: insulted Hermione. Of all people, she deserved it least of anyone he knew.

As he glared daggers at the cards, the fireplace roared to life, admitting Hermione.

"That was quick," he said shortly.

"You said it was urgent," she responded, brushing herself off. Then she looked at him, frowning at the bottle in his hand and the frightening scowl on his face. "What's the matter?"

"Here." He handed her the blackmailer's letter, pacing as she read it.

Hermione gasped. "Another deposit? So soon?" She glanced at Draco. "That's unreasonable!"

He gaped at her. "That's all you have to say about it? You're upset about him demanding more money?" The woman was unbelievable.

"Oh, well, the rest is … nasty, of course, but it's nothing more than I'd expect."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It doesn't bother you? Not one bit?"

She shrugged. "It stings, I suppose, but Draco, this is a Death Eater writing these letters. I hardly expect him to congratulate you."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Draco's thoughts spinning. Yes, she was the most incredible, amazing, exceptional woman he knew, but why couldn't she react normally and get angry?

"When we catch this lowlife, I'm going to torture him to within an inch of his life," he threatened darkly.

"No, you most certainly will not," she returned, just as firmly. "While I appreciate your indignation on my behalf, yet again, I refuse to allow you to jeopardize the freedom you're so close to achieving. I won't have you sent to Azkaban because you couldn't control your temper."

"He's made my life miserable for seven years!" Draco shouted. "I have every right to—"

"You don't have the right to punish him yourself," she interrupted. "That's what the law is for. We'll catch him, turn him over. He will be punished, Draco. He's a wanted Death Eater already; it'll be life in prison with no possibility of release. You'll never have to worry again."

She was right, of course she was, but he wanted to be angry. He wanted to burn the flesh off the monster who'd stolen his life. This latest outburst by the blackmailer had pushed him over the tipping point.

"Draco."

He started, surprised to find that she'd moved beside him. Locking her eyes on his, she took the bottle away and set it on the table. Then she took his face in her hands and kissed him, slowly, tenderly. At first, he barely responded, his anger still too hot, but then it melted as she meticulously worked through his walls. When he started to return the kiss, she ended it, much to his displeasure.

"Hey," he complained, grabbing her wrist when she started to back away.

"First things first." She sighed, pulling free and looking at the note once more. After rereading it several times, she said, "You know, I find it interesting the way he talks about you dishonoring your family."

Draco's mind was still foggy from the kiss. "Oh?"

"Yes. It's almost as though he takes a personal offense to you dating me," she mused.

Something inside Draco clicked and his blood went cold. His head was suddenly pounding and there was a constant rushing sound. "Would you read that last part to me?" he forced out.

Hermione frowned at his abrupt change in demeanor and read, "_And for Merlin's sake, think of you mother! You'll send her to an early grave if you keep this up, you gutless whelp!_"

He closed his eyes tight and had to sit on the sofa before his knees gave out. Shakily, he lifted the Firewhisky to his lips and took a painful swallow.

"Draco!" Hermione scolded, snatching it away.

Draco met her narrowed eyes, full of concern. He drew a shaky breath, terrified at the implications of what he had just uncovered. "I know who it is."

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Sorry to leave you with a cliffie—well, not really! Title borrowed from a few songs of the same name. Artwork in this chapter by the fabulous scarletlady (at deviant art) / mmmels at LJ. Playlist as always by inadaze22.


	21. The Light of Pure Reason

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Poll Update: **The overwhelming consensus is that Lucius is the blackmailer. Following distantly are Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Thanks to everyone who's participated in the weekly polls! I hope you've enjoyed it! I know I have enjoyed reading your speculations.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter ****21 - - The Light of Pure Reason**

**- - -**

Hermione blinked, the bottle of Firewhisky still in one hand, the blackmailer's letter in the other. "Are you sure?"

He nodded dully.

"How?" she asked, sinking into the chair nearest him.

"There's only one person in my life who's ever called me a 'gutless whelp.'" He grimaced.

"Who?" she prodded, trying not to be frustrated that he wouldn't just tell her already.

"Bellatrix."

Hermione frowned. "She's … dead."

Draco sighed. "Yes, she is. But her husband isn't."

Rodolphus Lestrange was the blackmailer? "Are you positive?"

"It makes perfect sense," he said wryly. "He's French; I deposit the money in Paris. He's my uncle; he hates that I'm 'disgracing the family' by seeing you. He wants my father to be the next Dark Lord; he tells me constantly what my father should do or think about my actions." Draco's tone had turned sour. He shook his head. "Why didn't I see it before?"

"I've read every single letter he's sent you," Hermione commented. "This letter and the last are the most vile and personal of all of them. He was too careful in the others, but his anger got the better of him and he slipped up. You didn't miss anything, Draco."

His mind was spinning, one notion spilling over into the next, so that he couldn't form a cohesive thought. "Bollocks," he muttered, going into his bedroom for a Sober-Up potion. Moments after swallowing, he felt marginally better and returned to the sofa and a worried Hermione.

"All right," he said. "Rodolphus."

"I'm not sure we should consider the search over," Hermione said. "I'm wary of declaring your uncle the blackmailer without more substantial proof. Why would he want to blackmail you?"

Draco frowned. "I have no idea, to be honest. He probably needs money while he's hiding from authorities."

"But surely not as much as he demands." She set the Firewhisky down and crossed her arms. "He must be doing _something_ with it."

"I … I don't even know where to begin to speculate," Draco said, frustrated. "If he needed money, he only had to ask. I'm sure my mother would have felt duty-bound to give him something. Though she wouldn't have wanted it known that she was aiding wanted Death Eaters …."

He lifted one leg, resting his right ankle on his left knee, casting his thoughts about, hoping to discover something in his past dealings with his uncle that would provide some clue. After a few moments, he threw up his hands. "I cannot think of a motive."

"Let's worry about that later," Hermione suggested.

"What do you propose we do?" he asked.

"Find a way to be sure it's him," she replied matter-of-factly. "Then we can attempt to figure out why."

Draco chuckled. "Oh, of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Draco," she scolded lightly.

He pushed himself off the sofa and started pacing. There were a dozen things that demanded his attention, and he couldn't decide which to focus on first.

"We know how the money changes hands," Hermione began. "At least, we know what happens after you deposit the money. When you do it this time, I'll sneak into the back like I did before and wait until Frederic removes the money from the box. Then—"

"Let's assume for a moment that I agree with this plan. How will you get back there?" he asked, leaning against a bookcase across the room.

"I'll Disillusion myself, as I did before," she replied.

"No magic," he stated. "He monitors the bank on the day I deposit the money for all magical activity."

She crossed her arms. "Are you certain? Unless he's in the vicinity, then he can't very well do that."

"It's not a risk I'm willing to take." His tone indicated finality of the matter.

Hermione's brow furrowed in concentration. Then she snapped her fingers. "Harry's Invisibility Cloak! It's different from other, similar cloaks, leaves no magical signature and is undetectable by spells!" She smiled in triumph.

Draco hadn't been expecting that, but an incident in his third-year came quickly to mind. He narrowed his eyes. "How long has he had that cloak?"

"He got it for Christmas his first year at Hogwarts," she replied. "Why?"

"I remember seeing him with it." Draco chuckled. "Third year, Hogsmeade. Snowballs, right? By the Shrieking Shack?"

She smiled innocently at that and shrugged, and he had an impulsive desire to snog her until he'd completely forgotten about the rotten hand life had dealt him. But that would probably take an entire week, at least, and as pleasant as it sounded, he had way too much to do in order to meet the blackmailer's … his _Uncle's_ demands.

Draco shook his head. "Fine. Continuing along this line of thinking, let's say you get into the back of the bank undetected and remain that way until Frederic retrieves the deposit. What are you going to do then?"

"Easy," she said confidently. "Follow him until he meets with Rodolphus. I won't do anything rash; all we want is confirmation of his identity. Once I have it, I'll leave."

Draco crossed his arms. "What if he sends the money off by Portkey?"

The question made Hermione pause and think. "All Portkeys must be registered. We can check with the French Ministry and see who had a Portkey request for that day."

He rolled his eyes. "This is a Death Eater, giving a Portkey to a Muggle, who's under the Imperius. I don't think he'd bother asking permission."

She huffed. "I'll be sure to have a grip on the Portkey then."

His eyes flashed dangerously. "You will do nothing of the sort!"

"No, you're right. That would be stupid," she admitted quickly. "The chances of using a Portkey to transport something are very slim. It's very risky. Besides, I'm certain he'll be in the immediate vicinity of the bank in order to watch for magic. Since you maintain that he's doing it."

"He does. I've been testing him randomly. I use my wand to light a cigarette, and all but one time, he remarked about it," Draco told her.

"You smoke?" she asked, stunned.

"Absolutely not," he replied, disgust evident. "But it's a simple spell that won't be misconstrued as threatening. I always perform it outside the bank, after the deposit."

"See?" Hermione said insistently. "He cannot be far if he's able to maintain that kind of watch on the bank. Frederic won't have to send the money by Portkey."

"What if he uses an owl?" Draco argued. "To discourage the Muggle from trying to find him?"

Watching Hermione think was oddly fascinating to him. She would nibble on her lip, her eyes would dart around as though she was reading an invisible book, and occasionally, her tongue would nip out of her mouth to wet her lips. Before, it had always been distracting to say the least, but now, when he was in full possession of the rights to interrupt her thoughts ….

Draco shook his head. He needed to focus on the problem; there would be plenty of time for kissing her and more later.

"If he uses an owl," Hermione said slowly, "I'll follow the owl on a broom until I spot him."

"I thought you hated flying," Draco observed.

She shrugged. "It's not my favorite method of travel, but I don't mind when the job calls for it."

"I think Rodolphus, nutter that he is, would notice you flying after his owl."

"I'll Disillusion the broom, and—"

"No magic," he interrupted.

Hermione took a long breath. "Fine. The Cloak will cover me and the broom."

Draco snorted. "It's obvious you've not flown much, Hermione. The wind will whip that cloak around so much that you'll be lucky it covers any of you. Besides, those things aren't too reliable."

"Invisibility Cloaks? No, you're right; they can go bad after awhile. But not Harry's. His is different," she explained.

He narrowed his gaze at her. "How is it different?"

She hesitated. "It's … a very long story. For another time, perhaps."

Draco frowned. Hermione had never withheld information from him before.

"I assure you it has nothing to do with what we're doing." She gave him a smile that in other circumstances would have completely disarmed him.

That smile also convinced him that whatever she wasn't telling, he wanted to know, and that only annoyed him. Something in her eyes, the way she'd turned her body slightly, hoping to discourage further questions, only settled his resolve to hear the story another time.

He sighed heavily. "It still isn't going to stay on in flight," he reiterated.

Hermione sighed, and then her face lit up. "I'll Disillusion the broom before going to the bank, leave it outside, and use it if necessary! The cloak _will_ cover me while I'm flying." She gave him a victorious smile.

Draco looked at her hard. "I'm not crazy about this plan. Why don't you go into the bank with the cloak, and then if the Muggle takes off, I'll follow on the broom."

"But you'd be visible," she countered. "And if we took the time to transfer the cloak to you, we might lose him, and we'd be seen by anyone watching."

Draco floundered, desperately trying to find an argument that would stick. "This all happens at night," he said. "The last time, the employee took the money at night."

"I'll just stay in the bank until after closing," she said. "He'll have to disarm their alarm system in order to get in and out, and I'll just follow. Besides, we only have one instance caught on tape. We don't know that it happens the same way every time."

"I don't want you in any danger," he said firmly.

"Well, I think we need to know for certain," she returned. "How else do you suggest we accomplish that without laying eyes on him, catching him in the act?"

Draco shook his head at his oversight. "It's my Uncle. He's been here, was here a little over two months ago. There's no reason he wouldn't return, if invited … by my father."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I don't like that."

"When my parents return, I could throw them a welcome home party," he said, returning to pacing. "My mother would be ecstatic; she loves attention lavished upon her. I'll invite my uncles, slip Rodolphus some of the Veritaserum I've brewed, and confront him in front of my father!"

"Maybe," she said an interested tone. "I like my plan better."

"I'm sure you do," he conceded. "However, my plan doesn't involve you putting yourself in harm's way."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to burst out from under the cloak and challenge the man to a duel, Draco! I don't want to be in harm's way either!"

Draco knew she was right, but he was reluctant to agree to anything that put her within sight of a Death Eater. However …. "If you will promise me that you won't come out from under that cloak, or follow him, or … or try any of your rush-headlong-into-danger rubbish, I'll agree to your plan."

She squealed in delight, and he wondered if it was because he'd agreed to her idea or because she'd gotten him to fold. "If that doesn't work," he continued, "we'll do it my way."

"Excellent," she said. "I knew you could be brought to see reason."

"You can be infuriating." He smiled, feeling it reach all the way to his eyes. He hadn't felt that in a long time.

"I know." She stood and leaned against the wall in front of him. "Now that we've got that settled, why don't you kiss me like you've been thinking about for the last twenty minutes?"

Draco chuckled. "If we did that, we'd be here all night."

"What's wrong with that?" she asked, taking a step closer and tentatively tracing her fingers along his face.

He was out of his mind, completely nutters. A raving lunatic. Barmy. Off his trolley. Truly, he belonged in the loony bin. Hermione deserved … well, more attention than he had time for, and he didn't want their first time to be rushed or for his thoughts to be drawn elsewhere. Not that he anticipated that being a problem.

"You have no idea how much I want to do this," he forced out, placing his hand over hers where it rested on his cheek.

"But?" She smiled wryly.

"But, I have a week to find a hundred thousand Galleons." She winced. "I haven't even recovered from the last one. I'm going to straight from here to the office, and if I'm lucky, I'll make it back here to fall into bed. My office sofa is quite comfortable, though."

"That's awful," she said, distancing herself just enough to make her nearness not so … tantalizing, but still pleasant. "I will behave myself."

He started to smile but ended up sighing. "Suffice it to say, you won't see me until after I've come up with the money."

"I wish I could help," she said helplessly. "Can you spare a few minutes to write me sometime?"

"Of course." Draco bent down and lightly brushed his lips against hers. For an instant, he forgot what he's just said and started to kiss her more, but she backed away. "Merlin," he groaned. "Sometimes I hate my life."

"Not for long," Hermione said, her tone all-business. Then she glanced at the clock and her eyes went wide. "Oh! I've got my house meeting in five minutes!" She rushed around, making sure she wasn't forgetting anything, and hurried to the fireplace. "I'll see you!"

"Goodbye, Hermione." He smiled as she waved and disappeared.

The Fates, which had always been against him, were now working overtime to keep him as miserable as possible. Yes, they had granted him Hermione Granger, but then made his circumstances so impossible that he was left wanting. Since declaring their feelings, they had spent almost no time alone, just being together without fears or concerns or worries. Draco sighed, supposing that such luxuries would have to wait. At least there was an end in sight, and this thought comforted him as he grudgingly made his way back to his office.

**ooo**

_7__th __November_

_Draco,_

_I find it hard to believe that your father and I have been gone for thirteen weeks! The time has simply flown by. I'm writing to inform you that we'll be returning this week, on Thursday, the 11__th__. Our Floo-connection is scheduled for ten in the morning, and we are looking forward to having lunch with you. We heard all about the excitement in the Place de la Magie a few weeks ago and wish we could have been there. However, duty called us elsewhere._

_Now to the matter that everyone has been ignoring: Miss Granger. I have managed to convince your father that the girl is not after our money, nor does she intend any ill-will toward the family as a result of your aunt's actions during the war. Your courtship seems genuine; at least as far as the gossip columns can be trusted. _

_Your father wishes to know how serious your relationship is. I know, and have told him, that you haven't been involved with anyone for some time, and so naturally we wonder if this is just a fling that will blow over. I know you're awfully busy with work, and so it's possible that you are just in the early stages. We hope to have these and other questions answered soon after our arrival._

_Should you inform us that you're serious about her, then certain steps must be taken. She may not run in our circles, but that doesn't mean we will ignore the social protocol. Dinner with her is a must, followed by inviting her parents into our home. I'm afraid Lucius isn't too keen on this idea, and we'd like some time to get used to her and her being with you before we move to that step. We hope you understand. We are trying to be understanding and not to take this as a personal slight against the traditions that both the Malfoys and the Blacks have always held. As I have repeatedly told your father, the heart wants what it wants and doesn't recognize social status the way our eyes and minds do._

_He is slowly coming around, and Draco, I do mean slowly. Please be aware, however, that he _is_ trying, if only because his respect and love for you have grown in the years he was absent from your life._

_We look forward to seeing you soon and finally being a family, as we were meant to be. We love you, son._

_Narcissa_

**ooo**

_8__th__ November_

_Mother,_

_I await your return with great anticipation. Even more so Father's attempts at being 'understanding.' _

_I wish to put together a small 'welcome home' soiree, if that's all right with you. Though we just had one for Father's release, your friends would dearly love the chance to see you, as you've been gone for so long. The Saturday immediately following your return is best for me. Please respond quickly so that I may continue preparations._

_Dutifully yours,_

_Draco_

**ooo**

_9__th__ November_

_Hermione,_

_I'm exhausted and can barely hold this quill upright, but at quarter to midnight, I have collected the final Galleon for the deposit. Truthfully, I'd been slowly building a reserve fund over the years, and this demand required me to deplete it. Nevertheless, it made the process go smoother than it would have otherwise._

_My parents return Thursday and have requested my presence for a full explanation of my relationship with you. Is it ridiculous that I'm thrilled that I don't have to lie? No, of course it's not, though you know I've never had any compunction about lying._

_They have agreed to the party in their honor, and I await the approved guest list. Should your plan work, it will still be an excellent venue for a confrontation. It's unbelievable to think that this might end so soon. I scarcely know how to feel._

_I will be making a trip to Paris first thing in the morning. And I've just remembered your duties! I will do anything to help you get out of your classes, even teach them if I must. Please respond right away so I can make arrangements. I'm sure you have copious lesson plans that will make the job almost effortless. I have arranged for the use of your Eiffel Tower Portkey once again._

_One final thing: do not be surprised if you receive an invitation to dinner on Friday night. My mother is insistent on following the 'social code,' and that includes a formal meeting. _

_See you soon,_

_Draco_

**ooo**

Hermione was up at five in order to prepare everything for her day. She wrote a detailed list of instructions for Draco and gave him a copy of her schedule. Merlin, she was tired! She got his owl after midnight and had promptly responded, then gotten up and planned her day. She didn't get back to sleep until nearly two, only to wake three hours later.

She was still writing when Draco came through the Floo at half-past seven, looking bright and fresh, not at all like he'd been up late and working long hours.

"Morning," she said, smiling sleepily.

"Good morning, Hermione." He smiled back, drinking in the sight of her bending over her desk, a quill in hand. Briefly, he wondered that it might be too soon in their relationship to have missed her so much since the last time he'd seen her—had it really been almost a week? Such thinking was much too sappy for a man of his character. Really, though, they'd been 'together' for longer, officially or not, so he didn't let it bother him.

She yawned again. "Aren't you spent?"

He presented a small vial, smirking. "My own creation. For you."

"What is it?" she asked, accepting it warily.

"The modified Pepper-Up I've mentioned," he explained. "Works wonders. You'll crash later, but this should get you through the day as though you'd slept restfully for a full night."

"I don't know …." She frowned.

"Hermione, I assure you it's completely safe," he said, Conjuring a carafe of water and pouring her a glass. "I've been using it for years and haven't had any problems. Once won't hurt you, although it does taste awful."

"If you're certain," she said, still eyeing the vial with suspicion.

"You do trust me, don't you?" he asked, frowning slightly.

She sighed. "Of course I do." Then she braced herself and took the potion.

Draco chuckled at the way her face contorted into a horrified grimace.

"What's _in_ that? Merlin, it's foul!" she cried, downing the water and quickly pouring another glass.

"Secret ingredient," he chimed, grinning mischievously. Then it occurred to him that he could kiss her and he did, catching her completely off guard as he pressed his lips to hers. Any remaining stress slipped away as he surrendered himself to the bliss that was kissing Hermione Granger.

Hermione sighed, her hands pressed lightly against his chest. At this rate, they would never get anything accomplished. The thought brought her back to the present and she pushed against him gently but firmly.

"Draco," she breathed, feeling slightly light-headed.

He chuckled, low and deep, sending a thrill of anticipation through her.

"It still catches me off guard that I can do that whenever I want," he admitted.

"Same here." She smiled up at him, the look in his eyes making her chest tighten sweetly. "I wonder when it won't require a conscious thought first."

He smirked. "I intend to do everything in my power to move to natural as quickly as possible."

"See that you do," she said in a business-like manner. "Now, let's discuss our day. You've just been to the bank?"

"I was there first thing," he said, nodding. "Here's the Portkey, it will activate in about ten minutes."

Hermione handed him the stack of things she had collected on her desk. "Here's all you need to know. Read that letter carefully. Be good. Hopefully, I'll be able to return before too long."

"That's a self-activating Portkey," he told her. "Simply touch your wand to it, say _Portus_, and you're on your way back to the same spot from which you departed. I paid dearly for it, but it's better than keeping you in Paris—and therefore away from me—until this evening."

"Agreed." She grinned. "Thank you for taking my seventh-year class. I've written down everything you need to know. Do you remember where the classroom is?"

Draco nodded. "Sixth floor, just past the portrait of the dogs playing poker. Am I not taking your other classes as well?"

"I found someone else to cover those," she explained. "Two of my seventh-year students will be getting some extra credit, but they can't exactly teach themselves. On such short notice, Minvera wasn't able to find someone to cover this one class."

"I'm glad I can do something to help," he said, hoping he sounded confident. In truth, even the thought of teaching one class terrified him slightly.

"Brilliant." Hermione leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "Behave. See you soon."

He scoffed, feigning injury. "Behave? What am I, some fourth-year caught pestering his juniors?"

"No," she quipped, collecting Harry's cloak and her other supplies: her current book, the newest _Journal of Apothecary Research_, a notebook, and a wide assortment of snacks. "You're a former Slytherin who's just been given a slice of power over children. Minerva wasn't thrilled about this, but had no other option." She gave him a pleading look.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I will behave!" he cried. "I don't know what would give you the impression that I'd do something to jeopardize your job or being in your good graces."

"Thank you. I look—" She was cut-off mid-sentence when the Portkey activated.

Hermione landed in the same alleyway as before and quickly morphed into action mode. Everything she needed was in her trusty beaded bag, and she wrapped the cloak around her, checking to make sure she was completely covered. Then she darted through the crowd and into the bank.

She stationed herself as close to the 'employees only' door as she could without risking being inadvertently jostled. Only ten minutes passed before someone exited, and she slipped through the door without incident. Since she'd been there once before, Hermione was somewhat familiar with the layout of the inner rooms of the bank, and had no trouble locating the break room that butted against the deposit box room.

Hermione found the perfect spot to hide and hunkered down to wait.

**ooo**

Draco stood perusing the books in the classroom while he waited for the next group of students to filter in. He didn't remember many of them being there when he took the class, and wondered how much of Hermione's personal collection had made its way onto the shelves.

His back was to the door, and as he took down one of the volumes to flip through, someone entered.

"Professor."

It was a girl's voice, and she sounded upset.

"I need to—Oh!" she exclaimed upon locking eyes with a curious Draco. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't …. Where's Professor Granger?"

Draco studied the black-haired girl with mild interest. "We've met, have we not?" he said.

She reddened and nodded. "I'm your …. Well, we're related. Distantly."

"You're a Black," he stated.

She nodded again. "Where's Professor—"

"I'll be teaching you today," he interrupted, carrying the book to the front desk. "Professor Granger is otherwise occupied."

"Oh." Samaya frowned, looking as though her best friend had died, and slumped into the nearest desk.

Draco felt a twinge of sympathy but concluded the girl was probably besotted with some ignorant bloke and shouldn't be moping around about it in the first place. He opened the book and began to read the forward.

"What should we call you?" Samaya asked.

"Mr. Malfoy will do," he replied, not taking his eyes off the page.

She leaned forward in her chair. "All right then, Mr. Malfoy. I really need to speak with Professor Granger."

He heaved a great sigh and looked up. "She's not here; it will have to wait."

Samaya frowned, and then said in an accusatory tone, "You know, she always says really nice things about you."

Draco blinked. Hermione did what? He would have to ask her about this next time he saw her. Closing the book, he addressed Samaya, "What exactly would you like me to do?"

"Well," the girl began, a hopeful glint in her eyes, "she trusts you, and you _are_ a distant relation, so maybe you'd be able to help."

"Help with what? Do you always come in so early? Class doesn't begin for another fifteen minutes," he asked with a glance at the clock.

"I needed to speak with her," Samaya insisted. "When I saw the door open, I figured she was available."

_Behave_, Hermione had admonished. He didn't think that extended to getting involved in a student's personal problems, but the girl was insistent. She would likely end up telling him anyway, no matter what he did or said.

"Fine. How may I be of service?" he asked reluctantly.

Samaya wrung her hands and then started tapping her foot nervously. "Well, it's just …. It's my father. He received a message that's got him worried."

At least they wouldn't be discussing 'girl things,' he thought, relieved. "Continue."

"Someone, another distant relation, wrote to him and …." She paused to gather her thoughts. "Mr. Malfoy, my family was not involved in the war with Voldemort. We don't hold to the usual beliefs and traditions of other family members."

He saw her flinch slightly as she said this, probably thinking he still did. "I see."

"This letter … it demanded that my father and mother join this man, someone named Rabastan, in building a new army."

Draco's blood froze at the mention of his lunatic uncle's name.

Samaya continued, unaware of the sudden change that had come over him. "He-he threatened to hurt my family if they don't comply. My father is considering taking us back to Belgium to get away, but my mother is scared that this Rabastan character would just follow. He says he's a-a Death Eater."

Draco scowled and stood to pace behind the desk, his head buzzing. "When did your father get this letter?" he asked.

"Last week," she answered. "Wh-what should we do?"

Draco didn't answer right away as he tried to process the significance of the letter. He doubted it was the only one of its kind to be sent. When his uncles had last been at the Manor, they had approached Lucius about stepping into an authoritative position at the head of the remaining Death Eaters, but Lucius had assured him he wouldn't.

Had that been a lie? Did the timing of this letter coincide with his father's return to England? Would he be joining Rabastan and Rodolphus in building this new, dark army? Did the blackmailing have anything to do with what Rabastan was doing? It seemed like too great a coincidence to be merely that.

Hermione's words came back to him from their conversation at the Quidditch game about his uncles, and he realized that she had been right. He should have turned them in, regardless of the flack he'd get from his parents. Not only would the world be down two more Death Eaters, but he wouldn't have been in the whole blackmailer mess to begin with. If he could manage it, he would turn Rabastan in along with Rodolphus.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"What else did this letter contain?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I didn't read it; my father just shared the highlights."

"Were there any other names he mentioned? My father's, perhaps?"

Samaya's eyes widened in shock. "I-I don't know. I don't think so."

Draco leaned on the back of the teacher's chair. "My uncle is insane. I mean that quite literally. If you get another letter, let me know. I wouldn't worry too much about him just yet. I haven't heard anything about a new dark army."

"W-would you though?" she stuttered, fear ghosting her features.

Hermione would have his head if she found out he'd purposely terrorized a student, so he wouldn't milk the situation. "Perhaps," he admitted. "But I doubt anyone would come to me, seeking my enlistment."

"Wait, he's your uncle?" Samaya's jaw dropped. "That means he's related to me, too?"

"Very distantly. Rabastan Lestrange's brother was married to Bellatrix Black," he said, leaving her to make the remaining connections.

"Wow," she whispered. "So … you're telling me to do nothing. That my family should just ignore this?"

Draco sighed. What did he know? Rabastan was mad enough to follow through which any threat he made, and Draco had learned long ago never to underestimate those who had been in Voldemort's inner circle. "The chances of him knowing where you live are slim. He's a wanted man, and I doubt he's even in England." _Probably in France with his brother._

"But—"

"That said," he interrupted, "he is a deranged madman, and I wouldn't dismiss his threats. If I were your father, I would attempt to find out more information from him. Let him think I was considering his offer. Information is power, Miss Black."

"You're suggesting my father play along, then?" she asked.

"For now," he replied. "Have him sound interested, but only mildly. Inquire as to who is of like mind and what has been done to begin this effort. He may not answer, but it will give more time."

"Then what?" she demanded. "We do not want any part of this."

"I'm working on it," he quipped. "I meant what I said about contacting me. If your father is agreeable, I'd like to meet with him and discuss this."

Samaya's brow furrowed in worry. "This is serious, isn't it?"

"Never underestimate a Death Eater," he said intently. "Especially the crazy ones."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "I'll write my father today."

"Good. Don't breathe a word of this to anyone," he insisted.

Then the girl grinned and waggled her eyebrows. "What about Professor Granger?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What about her?"

"Will you be telling her?" Samaya asked, clamping her hands together and resting her head on them.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes," he replied, as the other students started to arrive.

"She's something special, isn't she?" Samaya's dark eyes twinkled mischievously.

Draco narrowed his gaze on the girl, and when everyone had taken a seat, began the class.

**ooo**

"_Did you see the substitute Arithmancy teacher?"_

"_Do you think it's a permanent assignment?"_

"_I wonder if he'll be teaching any other classes."_

"_He's bloody gorgeous!"_

Draco smirked as he walked through the halls of Hogwarts toward Hermione's room, his keen hearing picking up snippets of conversations between the older female students. It was entertaining but not distracting. His thoughts were continually on Hermione.

The class had been … interesting, to say the least. Teaching certainly wasn't his calling, as he found he had little patience for the juvenile behavior of the students. How Hermione dealt with them on a daily basis, he couldn't imagine.

To his lament, the experience hadn't been enough to stop the worry that was gnawing at his gut from growing with every second that ticked off the clock. Though he hadn't realistically expected to hear back from Hermione so soon, he had still hoped.

Draco entered Hermione's rooms and allowed himself three minutes to relax. He brewed a cup of tea and poked around her things, even indulging in a peek through her unmentionables drawer. It was a mistake, really, as it only made his throat go dry and his mind start down paths that would only leave him frustrated.

After quickly downing a second cup of tea, he Floo'd to his office, where he set about doing the work he'd neglected by covering for Hermione. Though lengthy budget reports couldn't take his mind of Hermione, at least they were dull enough to numb his senses. He could hope, at least.

**ooo**

Hermione silently cursed as the door to the break room closed. She stretched her legs, careful not to let any part of her be uncovered by the cloak. Her hiding spot hadn't been the worst possible place, but it was still highly uncomfortable.

The worst part was that she'd been sitting awkwardly for almost the entire day, with barely a ten-minute stretch where she could relax. She had managed to get some reading done, but it was hard to concentrate when people were constantly going in and out, getting coffee, or pausing to chat with a co-worker.

She had one hope that had pervaded her thoughts for the last two hours: that someone would leave a chair askance. The room was being monitored, and it wouldn't do any good for the security people to see a chair moving seemingly of its own accord.

Finally, the bank closed, and Hermione got her wish. As soon as the lights went out and all the noise ceased, she breathed a sigh of relief. Scooting out from her hiding spot, Hermione stretched, massaging her aching joints, and then carefully slid into the chair.

Hours passed. She ran out of food. She finished the article she'd wanted to read. When midnight came and went, Hermione realized that Frederic might not even show up tonight. She'd be stuck in the break room until the next day when the bank opened again.

Then the door opened and she jerked her head up, surprised to find that she'd fallen asleep. The clock read two in the morning. A figure entered the room and flicked on the lights, making Hermione squint. It was Frederic.

He crossed mechanically to the wall, moved the picture aside, and opened Draco's safety deposit box. Then he withdrew the magically shrunken bag of Galleons, pocketed it, and returned the room to its previous state.

Hermione positioned herself by the door, and slipped through as Frederic made his exit. Next she followed him as he reset the alarms and exited the bank.

Breathing deeply of the cool, night air, adrenaline coursing through her, Hermione cast a silencing charm on her shoes and followed Frederic as he left the bank and headed down an alley. He walked for a long time, turning at every other street, and she briefly panicked that he knew he was being tailed and was trying to lose her.

She rushed up beside him and saw that his eyes were glazed over and shone with an unnatural glint when the light hit them in a certain way. He was definitely Imperiused.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Frederic neared the Seine and descended a set of stairs so that he was off the main road. Then he walked under a bridge, Pont Neuf, Hermione recalled, and stopped.

Another few minutes passed and then someone arrived with a loud _pop!_

Hermione's heart was pounding furiously as he neared them, his shoes clacking loudly on the stone walkway.

The man stopped under the bridge, his features largely hidden by the shadows.

"Well," he said gruffly. "Give it here."

Frederic robotically held out his hand containing the bag of gold. The blackmailer snatched it hastily, opening it and sighing in relief at seeing the contents.

"Bloody piece of …." He trailed off, muttering under his breath so Hermione couldn't hear. "Good. Go," he commanded, and Frederic immediately walked away.

Now Hermione was completely terrified, even though she trusted that the cloak would keep her hidden. She was standing mere feet from the man who had made Draco's life exceptionally hard for seven years, who also happened to be a Death Eater. And not just any Death Eater, if Draco was right; he was one of Voldemort's inner circle.

Still muttering, the tall, thick man turned and started back the way he'd come.

Started, Hermione panicked. She had to see his face! Glancing around her feet, she saw a stone and tossed it into the water.

The man spun, wand out, toward the sound, his face illuminated perfectly by a streetlight. Draco had told her what to look for, a long, vertical scar that ran the length of his face. It was him, without a doubt: Rodolphus. She would show Draco her memory, to be certain, but she felt triumphant.

After staring at the water until the ripples were absorbed in the flow of the water, Rodolphus finally relaxed and continued on his way.

Hermione waited until he'd disappeared, then leaned against the wall, trying to calm her nerves. Slowly she smiled. Confirmation! Draco would be thrilled, Draco—

She fumbled in her robes for the Portkey and activated it, returning with a thud to her suite at Hogwarts. Merlin, it was good to be home again.

A dim candle was burning, casting eerie shadows on the walls. As Hermione's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed a lump on her sofa. A long, blond lump. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, and she went to him, shaking him gently.

"Draco!" she whispered. "Draco, wake up!"

He started awake, his eyes flying open and settling on her. He blinked, as though assuring himself that she was really there, then launched off the sofa to crush her against him. Draco simply held her as though she might suddenly turn into dust and blow away.

Hermione didn't mind, just closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of his arms around her. It was the first time that he'd held her like this, and she melted against him, breathing in his delicious scent.

Then he was kissing her head and letting her go, only to take her face in his hands and place gentle but fervent kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her eyes and nose, and then finally his lips captured hers. It wasn't the desperate, fiery kiss of lovers reunited, but instead it spoke of all-encompassing welcome, relief, and joy. It was beautiful.

Draco ended the kiss and kept her face tilted toward his. "I … I was so worried."

She smiled and nodded. "I know, I'm sorry. But I'm fine."

He hugged her again and then released her, pulling her onto the sofa beside him. "Tell me everything."

Hermione relayed her story, though it took only five minutes to tell. "You were right, Draco. It's Rodolphus."

"And he didn't see you?" Draco questioned. "He didn't suspect?"

She shook her head. "Other than stiff muscles, it went off perfectly."

He pulled her close and kissed the side of her head, then held her against him. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, and then he said, "I took so many house points tonight, it's not funny."

Hermione laughed. "Really?"

He ran his free hand through his hair, chuckling softly. "I was in a foul mood from the start and it only worsened. The later the hour, the harsher I was. I caught a couple of older girls out past curfew, and they thought it would be just hilarious to try and flirt with me."

She gasped. "No!"

"I'm afraid so. They got detention for a week with Filch and lost their houses twenty-five points _each_."

"I wish I could've seen their faces!" Her laughed turned into a yawn.

Draco noticed. "Oh, Merlin, Hermione! You haven't slept at all, have you?"

"Not really," she said, shaking her head. "That stuff you gave me this morning really helped, but it's definitely worn off. I faded for a couple of hours, somewhere around midnight, but woke when Frederic entered the room. The adrenaline kept me going then, but it's definitely worn off."

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

She smirked sleepily. "Don't you wish?"

"Yes, but not tonight." He helped her off the sofa and into her bedroom, where she shuffled to the bed and plopped on top of the covers. "Do you want to get under? Or do you have a blanket?" he asked, glancing around.

"Mmm…."

Draco stared at his now sleeping girlfriend, marveling at her strength and courage. Merlin, she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

With a sigh, he removed her shoes and outer robes, then covered her with a blanket he'd found. "Goodnight, Hermione," he murmured into her hair, kissing her temple.

"Night … Malfoy …."

He chuckled and gathered his things, made sure her alarm was set for the next day, and left in a swirl of green flames.

**ooo**

**End Notes: **Thanks for reading! Hope you liked this! Art for this chapter was done by kryptiq (LJ), and the music as always done by inadaze22.


	22. Deeper Than My Bones

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Note**: I apologize for not responding to the reviews of the last three chapters. RL has reared its ugly head, not allowing me the time to sit and devote to responding. I hope to correct this for future chapters, but I probably won't get to every single review for 19-21. I'll try to get to the ones that asked questions, at the least. Thank you for understanding! Also, I've had questions recently about how long this will be. Right now, it stands to be 35 chapters long.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 22**** - - Deeper Than My Bones**

**- - - **

Draco stood ramrod straight, staring emptily at the fireplace. Any second now, it would roar to life, and his parents would step through and the complications in his life would multiply. Though he loved his mother, and on really good days he could find something in his father to admire, he wasn't looking forward to hearing their thoughts and opinions on Hermione.

Suddenly they were there, Lucius helping his wife step out of the fireplace and taking her cloak.

"Draco!" cried his mother, all smiles as she pulled him into a tight embrace.

He returned it awkwardly, expecting her to end it, but she didn't. Instead, she rested her head against his chest and sighed. Draco glanced at his father for something—an explanation, a shrug of his shoulder, a roll of his eyes, anything. Lucius merely stood with his hands clasped and watched.

"Mother," Draco said.

"What? Oh!" She released him then, but there was something about her manner he found highly disturbing. "It's so good to see you." Her smile was brilliant, lighting her face.

"You as well," he returned, his smile confused but genuine. "Father."

Lucius bowed his head in indication. "How have you been?"

"Very well, for the most part," he replied.

"Oh, let's get out of this boring room," exclaimed Narcissa, linking her arm through Draco's and guiding him into the hallway. "I've missed my garden terribly, and I want to hear all about what you've been up to."

"I'm afraid I don't have time just now," Draco said patiently. "I really must get back to the office."

"Nonsense!" She had never really taken 'no' well. "You can spare a little time for your mother, whom you haven't seen in over three months, and who dearly missed you."

He bit back the retort that leapt to mind: _Missed me so much you barely wrote and certainly never asked me to join you, even for a day!_

"No, Mother, I can't," he said firmly. "I will be here for lunch with you though, as you wished."

Lucius scoffed. "The office can do without you for the rest of the morning."

Draco clenched his jaw. "Actually, Father, I have an appointment at eleven that I can't reschedule or cancel." It was then that Draco noticed his father's eyes darting around every door jamb, every corner.

"As long as you'll be here for lunch," Narcissa said, resigned. "There is much to discuss."

Lucius scowled then, and Draco realized what he'd been doing.

"She's not here, Father," he said stiffly.

"What? Who?" said Lucius innocently. They'd arrived at the back doors, and he opened them.

Narcissa breathed deeply, smiling. "Speaking of Miss Granger …." She trailed off, her tone inquisitive.

Draco had stopped at the doorway and she continued for a few steps, then spun around. He had no intention of volunteering anything, and if he went outside with them, he'd be even later returning to work.

"Draco?" she said.

"I've got to go, remember?" He checked his watch for emphasis.

"Oh, fine, if you must," she pouted. "Is Miss Granger free for dinner tomorrow evening?"

Draco saw his father's jaw set and his body stiffen, but he made no remark.

"I believe so," he replied.

"Good. I will contact her." Narcissa smiled primly. "I don't know what to think about you being serious with a woman all of a sudden! You weren't even thinking of dating when we left."

"Things change, Mother," he said dully. "I really must be going. I will return soon."

He didn't wait for a response, as it would only delay his departure. His mother would just say the same thing: stay, tell us about yourself, tell us about Hermione! All the while, his father would rather toss himself off a cliff then listen to anything Draco had to say about Hermione, unless it was to suddenly announce that he'd 'come to his senses' and ended things.

**ooo**

Far too soon, Draco found himself back at the Manor, sitting across the dining table from his mother, both of them beside Lucius at the head. The meal wasn't as bad as he had anticipated. Though Narcissa wasted no time, and immediately began talking about the letter she'd written to Hermione.

"I wrote her as soon as you left, Draco, and I've yet to have a response," she sniffed, as though affronted.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm sure she won't get the message until lunch, Mother. She's in class all morning, and any owls sent to Hogwarts are directed to the owlery until meal times."

"I do hope she'll come," she said, dabbing her lips with her napkin. "I'm anxious to properly meet her."

"You will," he stressed. "In other news, everything is arranged for the party this weekend."

Narcissa's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, Draco. Please tell us all about it. The guest list, the menu—everything!"

Draco took a deep breath and filled his parents in. The guest list was exactly the same as the one from the last party, three months earlier. He and Hermione had discussed everything at length, and she had helped him plan the menu. He left this information out, however.

"I didn't want anything extravagant," he concluded, "but I think it will be a nice evening. Now, tell me all about your trip."

It worked perfectly. Narcissa jumped into a lengthy explanation of their time: the shopping, the new friends they'd made, the old friends they'd visited. Lucius interjected occasionally and exchanged patient looks with Draco. She wasn't even halfway through their holiday when their plates were cleared by Chippy.

"My dear," Lucius interrupted, chuckling. "Save something for dinner."

Narcissa smiled demurely and nodded. "Of course. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll head to the gardens." She leaned down and kissed Lucius on the cheek before leaving the room.

Draco held in a deep sigh. Clearly Lucius wanted to talk to Draco, and had discussed the fact with his wife.

"Shall we retire to the lounge?" Lucius asked.

"If you wish," Draco replied.

Lucius didn't speak until they were in the room and he had poured himself a glass of wine. "I have been thinking about the business."

Draco's stomach dropped into his feet, fear that his father would ask him to maintain control, possibly for good, sending him into panic mode. "What about it?" he edged out.

"I've been gone for a little over seven years," Lucius continued. If he'd noticed Draco's strange tone, he didn't let on. "I hardly think I'm qualified to step directly into the role of CEO."

Draco started to perspire.

"I would … appreciate your assistance in getting reacquainted with the business." He gave Draco a pointed look. "I understand quite a lot has changed since I held the reigns."

The panic fled, leaving Draco feeling massively relieved, but also slightly numb. "You're right, a lot has changed," he remarked. "How long would you like my help?"

Lucius considered the question. "A week, maybe two. Does that sound reasonable?"

"It does, Father, though it will require long hours." Now he was fighting a ridiculous grin. Two weeks at most before he was set free. It was almost unbelievable.

"Good." He held out his hand. "I'll take the ring from you now. I know how anxious you are to be rid of it."

Draco closed his hand. "Actually, I think it would be best for me to keep it through the week. I would imagine you'd like to start next week, and it would be wise for me to hold onto it through tomorrow." He had to retain control of the family until he was ready to tell Lucius about Rodolphus. Turning the ring over now would eliminate the window of opportunity in which he could tell his father everything.

Lucius let his arm drop. "Agreed. Tell me, in your opinion, what is the biggest difference between the business under you and under me?"

"Easy," he responded without any thought. "I deal directly with Muggles. You never did."

Lucius' expression was one of shock.

Draco continued. "That means I have more personal interaction with my partners and clients, they trust me because I don't lie to them, and I'm familiar with the Muggle products and technology Malfoy Inc. deals with. They have confidence that I'm going to make the right decision."

"I see." Lucius poured himself something a little stronger. "Are you suggesting I adopt this … technique?"

"I …. Yes, I am."

"Why don't I form a position for you where you deal with the Muggles," Lucius suggested.

"First off, Father, I have no desire to work for the business at this time. I will take over when you retire, but no sooner." He took a seat facing his father. "Second, you've created this situation. You are the one who got into Muggle business, and it would be good for you to know more about the company."

Lucius sighed. "I have no intention of dealing with Muggles."

"Right, I remember," said Draco sarcastically. "The only interaction you want with them is to take their money."

The older man languidly rolled his eyes. "I hope you aren't going to start lecturing me—"

"For what?" he bit out. "Being a bloody hypocrite all my life?"

"Draco, let's not argue." Lucius held up a hand. "Your mother was outraged at the results of the last one."

Draco scowled, turning away from his father. Clasping his hands behind his back, he began pacing. "Fine. No arguments. But understand this: as soon as you're in control again, I don't care what happens. You can run the company into the ground, for all I care."

"Really?" Lucius drawled. "I do believe the business supports your livelihood as well as your mother's and mine."

"I've done a few projects on the side, all of my own making, and I've squirreled away enough to last until I find another means of making a living," Draco retorted.

"Speaking of a life of your own," Lucius commented lightly, as though the transition was entirely natural. "I would like to discuss … the girl."

"You mean Hermione?" he asked, stopping in his pacing.

"Yes. Her," Lucius remarked, as though the word itself was unpleasant.

"What about her?" Draco asked with a scowl.

Lucius lowered himself into a chair with regal grace. "I wish to know how serious the two of you are. Do you love her?"

Draco continued scowling, wishing his father had stopped at the first question. "We haven't discussed it, Father. We've only been together a little over a month."

"Of course," said Lucius silkily. "As for my second question…?"

Since thinking it the first time, nearly blurting it out, Draco had refused to let the L-word slip into his conscious thoughts. Yet that single thought couldn't be undone. His heart had latched onto that moment of weakness, that slip of the mind, and had refused to release him. Not that he particularly wanted to be released; he just wished he could be confident that she felt the same way.

Whenever he thought of falling in love, it certainly had never played out like this. They were barely two weeks into the relationship—eight if you counted the beginning, the fake parts—and he was fully in. She wasn't in love with him, he knew for a fact. Only weeks before, she had still carried quite a torch for Charlie Weasley, and was probably still getting over him. It was far too soon for her to have such strong feelings for Draco.

"It's too soon," he acknowledged grudgingly. "But … yeah. I do. A bit."

Lucius chuckled. "I agree with you there. Are you considering marrying the girl?"

At that, something like panic seized Draco's lungs and started squeezing. Not excruciatingly, but enough to get his attention. "N-no. I mean, I've never thought about it. It's decidedly too soon for that."

His father pulled something from his robes and held it out. Draco took it, his eyes on his father, and then looked at it. A woman with dark blond hair, full lips, and blue-violet eyes winked at him.

"What's this?" he asked, annoyed.

"That is Isabelle. She's a lovely young woman I met during my time in Paris." Lucius sipped from his glass. "I believe she would be ideal for you."

Draco frowned and flipped the photo over. Scrawled on the back was a message.

_Draco—_

_I look forward to making your acquaintance._

—_Isabelle_

"I'm not interested." Draco tossed the photo on a side table and went to the fireplace.

"You haven't met her," Lucius said.

He shrugged. "I don't need to. I'm with Hermione."

"For now," Lucius drawled. "I'm confident you'll tire of her, or she of you. Isabelle, however, would meet all of your needs."

Draco rounded on his father. "What makes you think you have any right to even speculate about what kind of woman is 'ideal' for me?" Anger was rapidly seeping through his blood. "Your list has two points on it: pureblooded and rich. You don't know me well enough for further conjecture."

Lucius stood and went to the window on the opposite side of the fireplace from where Draco stood. "Isabelle is beautiful, kind, and knows her place. She won't get in your way and would make an excellent partner."

"What makes you think I want someone who won't 'get in my way?'" he asked, thinking about Hermione who never thought twice about challenging him. "And really, I'd rather marry someone I love."

Lucius shrugged. "You'll meet her, get to know her."

"I don't want that," Draco gritted out.

"You want the Granger girl?" Lucius asked amusedly.

"I don't want to think about this right now!" he exclaimed, then ran a hand through his hair. "It's completely unnecessary. I will marry who and when I want, and that's the end of the discussion."

Lucius turned to face his son, his hands clasped at his back. "If you aren't going to be working for the business, you'll have to rely on _me_ for support of your lifestyle."

The threat was clear: if Draco wanted his father's financial support, he would meet and marry the woman his father chose. At the very least, Lucius would have to approve of the woman he chose.

Draco smirked. "I have full control over the company now, just as I have for seven years. Did you think I wouldn't see this coming? As I told you, I've taken care of my future. I could walk out right now and not need another Knut from you."

Lucius' face twisted into a snarl. "You would break your mother's heart."

"Then let's not push it to that point, Father," Draco said calmly. "I'm not ready to marry, so the discussion is irrelevant. My relationship with Hermione is nobody's business but ours, and I suggest you get used to the fact that we're together."

"You said it's moving too fast," Lucius said with a glare.

"No, I simply fell for her too quickly. I recognize that, and am under no delusions that she returns my feelings with the same intensity."

Lucius seemed to relax then. "Good. Just remember that both your mother and I must approve of your union for it to be sanctioned in our circles."

"I'm well aware of that fact, Father," Draco said quietly. He didn't especially care if his marriage was 'sanctioned,' but it would make his life much easier. He had his future to think about, the business he would one day inherit. Many of his customers would take offense to a marriage that wasn't approved by his parents, never mind that his personal life was none of their business.

Pureblood traditions were rubbish but alive and strong in the wizarding world. Just because no one still openly disparaged Muggle-borns didn't mean they wanted their children marrying them.

"On another subject," Draco continued before his father could comment, "have you been in contact with my uncle?"

Lucius' eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you asking?"

"Rabastan. Has he approached you about becoming the next Voldemort?"

Lucius' eyes now flashed in anger. "How dare you speak his name?!"

Draco huffed impatiently. "He's dead, Father. He wasn't the indestructible, flawless leader as everyone believed." His tone became demanding. "I asked you months ago, when Rabastan and Rodolphus first approached you, if you were going to join them. Has that changed?"

"No," said Lucius icily.

"Does he know that?" Draco asked.

Lucius dismissed the question. "Rabastan is mad."

"Crazy people can be very dangerous," Draco remarked. "He might have just enough sanity to know exactly what he's doing."

"I have no intention of returning to prison—"

"That was not the question!" Draco roared.

For the first time in his life, Draco saw his father blink in surprise, saw his constant mask of superiority and omniscience falter. For the first time, Lucius was forced to accept Draco as an adult, an equal, someone with whom he could not toy.

Draco continued. "I will not have you damage the family name by getting wrapped up in Rabastan's lunatic ideas. I have worked too hard to pull the family name, _my name_, out of the pit you threw it into. I refuse to sit idly while you damage it again or destroy it beyond repair."

"What have you done?" Lucius sneered. "From what your mother tells me, your charitable offerings are paltry compared to what they could be. Maybe you've cleaned up the name within the business, but the wizarding world still holds us largely in contempt."

He paused, a look of comprehension dawning. "Is this why you're with the girl? To get in good with the Muggle-lovers and blood-traitors?"

"Absolutely not!" Draco shouted. "I would never disrespect her that way, or treat her feelings so lightly. I have done everything in my power to improve our name, but …." He nearly mentioned the trials he had been through, the limitations enforced by the blackmailer, but he stopped himself.

"Just answer the question," Draco commanded. "Are you signing up with Rabastan to start a new Dark Army?"

"No," said Lucius eventually, carefully even. "I wish to spend my time focused on your mother."

Draco let out his breath. "You had better not be lying to me. I meant what I said; I won't let you drag my name through the mire."

"I can't lie to you," said Lucius simply. "Not while you're wearing that ring."

That made Draco pause and his hand was drawn to the ring, which he absently spun around his finger. "Fine. Then why is Rabastan actively recruiting?"

Lucius narrowed his gaze. "How do you know that? Certainly he hasn't contacted _you_."

"That's none of your concern," Draco returned stiffly. "What matters is that I know."

"How should I know?" Lucius asked dismissively. "He's mad, remember?"

Draco shook his head. "Fine. Don't answer me. I have to get back to the office anyway." He started for the door, half-expecting for Lucius to call him back. He didn't.

**ooo**

_Dear Hermione,_

_Everything is set; the pieces are in place. Today my parents returned, and on Saturday, a mere two days away, I will confront my father when I return the ring—and the family business—to him. I am anxious at the thought of what they will say and do upon my revelation._

_My life has been moving in this direction for so long that I never bothered to make any definite plans about what happens after. My path is laid out for two days, but then it suddenly stops, and I can't see where to go._

_I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night for dinner. Please do not worry. Everything will be fine._

_Draco_

**ooo**

Hermione was outrageously nervous, and with good reason: in just four hours, she would be Apparating to Malfoy Manor where she had been invited for dinner. She felt almost sick to her stomach, and her nerves were entirely shot.

She had just finished her last class for the day and was heading to her room, barreling through the halls and paying little attention to anything around her. Hermione was so distracted, she nearly plowed over a group of first-years as they shuffled toward their next class and had to dart into a niche to avoid the catastrophe.

After they'd passed, she heard someone chuckling and looked up to see Blaise leaning against the opposite wall, a lazy smirk on his face and his hands shoved laxly into his pockets.

"What?" she snapped, stepping out of the nook and straightening her robes.

"Where's the fire?" he asked, glancing to his right and then his left.

She shook her head. "No fire. I'm just …. Merlin! I'm terrified."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Th-the Malfoys invited me to dinner tonight."

Blaise's happy expression disappeared, replaced by a scowl. "They're back, then?"

"Yes. Oh Blaise, what am I supposed to do?" she whined, sitting in the window sill beside him.

"You've been to dinner before, haven't you?" he asked.

She shot him a glare. "You _know_ what I mean. This isn't just any dinner; it's Draco's parents. It-it's Lucius Malfoy, the man who tried to kill me and my friends in fifth year, who absolutely hates me on account of my birth…. I'm a nervous wreck, and even though I don't care what they think of me, how am I supposed to sit at a table with that man and have civilized interaction?"

"Whoa, whoa," said Blaise, gently shaking her shoulder. "There's no need to panic. Draco isn't going to let anything happen."

"I know that," she said impatiently. "But Lucius _hates_ me on principle. Draco doesn't talk about it much, but I do know that. The thought of trying to be polite when I just know he'll be picturing all the ways he could torture and maim me." She shuddered. "The man gives me the creeps."

Blaise sat down next to her, pressing his back against the window. "I don't know what to tell you. I've never cared for him either."

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. "I thought I could do this, but now I don't know."

She felt Blaise's arm wrap around her shoulder, then pull her close. Although it felt extremely awkward, she allowed him to attempt to console her.

"Of course you can," he said, his voice deep and resonant.

Hermione remained in his embrace for a few moments, counting the seconds before she could move, not wanting to rush and hurt his feelings. When she decided it was okay, she sighed and pulled away. "Thanks, Blaise. I think I'm going to try and catch a nap before the dreaded event."

"Anytime." He smiled.

She waved goodbye and hurried on her way. Though she felt slightly better and less harried, the interaction with Blaise left her slightly concerned. Blaise and Draco didn't seem to get along, Draco had appeared jealous of her 'friendship' with her co-worker, now Blaise was offering her comfort and more than just friendly words.

When she reached her room, Hermione knew there was no chance of getting any sleep. Her nerves were simply too raw and frayed. With a dramatic flourish, she flung open her closet. What on earth should she wear to dinner with Draco's parents?

Her heart started pounding. Was it formal? She dashed to her desk for Narcissa's letter and scanned it. No mention of attire or venue…. With Draco, she had eaten indoors and out, though never in the formal dining room. Shaking her head, she went to the fireplace and Floo-called Ginny.

_Please be home, please be home, please b—_

"Hermione?"

"Hi, Ginny. I need help, can I come through?" she asked.

Ginny was on the floor, playing with James. "Yeah, sure, of course."

Hermione nodded and pulled her head out of the fire. Then she grabbed all of her nicest clothes and hauled them with her to Ginny's.

"Oh my!" her friend exclaimed when she saw Hermione. "What's all this?"

She tossed the pile on the sofa and sat down heavily. "I'm going to Draco's for dinner."

Ginny frowned, watching as James pushed around his toy cars. Harry had insisted on exposing his son to the Muggle world. "You've done that plenty of times. Why are you panicking now?"

"His parents will be there," she said, exasperated.

Ginny looked at her, wide-eyed. "That's …. Wow. Okay. What can I do?"

Hermione wrung her hands. "I have no idea what to wear, Ginny! What if I'm overdressed, or underdressed? What if my robes clash with the wallpaper? What could I wear that would make Lucius forget I'm even there?"

Ginny scooted so that she was facing Hermione and still close to her son. "Show me what you've got."

For an hour they discussed—much to Ginny's amusement—the pros and cons of each piece, finally settling on a simple but elegant black dress of Ginny's. After a few alterations, it fit Hermione perfectly.

She glanced at the nearest clock and groaned. "Great. Two hours remaining. How am I going to keep from going crazy? All I can think about is sitting at a table, trying to make conversation. Ginny, they hate me."

"Well…." Ginny smiled sympathetically. "Okay, so Lucius probably does, but maybe his mum will be nice."

"Seriously, Ginny, what am I going to do?" Hermione slumped sideways on the sofa, letting her head fall on a pillow. "They're his _parents_! If I want a future with Draco, they have to at least tolerate me. Lucius is completely intolerant!" She gasped, her mouth forming an 'O.' "What about the grandchildren? What if they want to see them?"

Ginny laughed. "I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione groaned into the pillow. "It's entirely too early to think about kids and where we'll spend holidays, but Merlin, Ginny. I can't imagine a life that in any way includes Lucius Malfoy!"

"You're serious about a future with Draco, aren't you?" Ginny asked, suddenly serious.

Hermione shrugged as best she could from her reclined position. "What makes you say that?"

"Charlie," Ginny muttered, crashing a car lightly into one of James'. He cackled with glee.

Hermione sat up. "Charlie? What do you mean?"

"He, well…. He didn't look so great after the party at the shop," Ginny explained. "I asked him about it, and I got the basic gist. I'm honestly stunned. I'd always assumed that if he ever got his act together, you'd go for it."

"Me too," Hermione said quietly, looking down at her lap. "But this thing with Draco…. I don't know, Ginny, it's amazing. After Charlie and I talked that night, I kept waiting for the regret to hit me, to dream about a life with Charlie, to start comparing him and Draco, but it never happened. It still hasn't. Being with Draco has just felt … exactly right this whole time."

Ginny smiled sadly. "I suppose I should let go of the hope that we'd someday be sisters."

"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione threw her arms around her friend. "I've thought of you as a sister for a very long time now. Just because we're not actually related doesn't mean a thing!"

She nodded. "I know. I'm happy for you, really. If being with Draco means you have completed moved on from Charlie, then that's wonderful. I love my brother, and you, but the strange chemistry between you two was getting kinda old."

"Very nice," Hermione huffed, trying to look indignant.

Ginny grinned. "You're not mad. We've got … still almost two hours to kill. Want to look at Harry's Quidditch magazines and ogle the hot men?"

**ooo**

At precisely seven minutes before seven, Hermione rang the bell at Malfoy Manor, her entire body numb from nerves.

_Get a grip!_ she commanded herself. _You are Hermione Granger! You battled Death Eaters, Voldemort, and Umbridge—you can do this!_ Then the voice would always remind her that she was about to face one of those Death Eaters, and she dissolved into a puddle of nerves again.

She hoped Draco would answer the door, allowing her even a few moments with him before meeting his family. Briefly, she wished that she and Draco hadn't declared their feelings for each other until after tonight. But not really.

Hermione's heart was pounding as the door opened and it fell a little when her eyes landed on Narcissa.

"Miss Granger," she said, her voice light and smooth, a seemingly sincere smile on her face. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you. I know we've technically 'met' but this time you are a welcome guest."

"Thank you," Hermione responded stiffly. "It's nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Please, call me Narcissa."

Hermione forced herself to smile. "I will try. Call me Hermione."

"Draco is in one of the receiving rooms," Narcissa informed her as they walked through the main hall. "You'll have five minutes with him before dinner."

"All right." Five minutes? That was all? There was no way she could calm her nerves in five minutes!

Narcissa stopped outside a door, knocked twice, then opened it and ushered Hermione inside.

Draco was standing by the window, and he looked rather imposing, standing tall and proud, like a character from one of Jane Austen's novels. He turned when he heard the door and smiled.

Hermione remained where she was, her heart still thumping furiously, feeling extremely awkward and out of place.

"You all right?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

She shook her head, scolding herself for being so ridiculous but being unable to do anything about it.

Draco crossed to her and wrapped her in a possessive, welcoming hug, kissing the top of her head. "Don't be nervous," he began. "I'm here, I'm with you, and I'm on your side."

Hermione felt suddenly claustrophobic and pushed him away. She started pacing, wringing her hands. "I don't know what to do. This is so much more than just officially meeting your parents, Draco. Your father _hates_ me."

"He—"

"Hates me so much he wants me dead and tried to kill me once. So much he fought a war to eradicate people like me." She stopped and faced him. "There's no possible way he could ever accept me, and nothing you tell me can convince me otherwise."

"He—"

"Don't bother saying he's open-minded." She resumed pacing. "That he's willing to listen and change his mind."

Draco stepped in front of her and grasped her shoulders. "Merlin, woman!"

Hermione tried to glare at him but she could only frown pitifully. "What?"

He chuckled in that low way that set her senses on fire—it managed even now, when she'd thought her nerves were shot. "I've missed you."

"Me too," she sighed, leaning her head against his chest and hoping he wouldn't mind.

"All I can say is … he'll behave today."

She shook her head into his chest. "What's this whole five minute thing?"

Draco scoffed then, running his hands up and down her back. The dress was partially open, and wherever his hand touched her skin, sparks flew. "Part of the traditional rubbish. They believe five minutes is a safe amount of time to leave a man and a woman alone together."

Hermione started and glanced up. "Really?"

He shrugged. "It's absurd."

"Sounds like a challenge to me," she said, her bravado shocking her.

Draco's expression was one of pure shock. He smirked and was about to speak when the door opened.

"Draco? Hermione?" called Narcissa, peeking around the door as though to avoid seeing something disturbing. "We're ready to begin dinner."

"Coming, Mother," Draco called, releasing Hermione.

She took his hand and together they followed Narcissa through the enormous Manor. "Can I see you tomorrow?" she whispered, walking on her toes so he could hear. His life was going to change the following night, and she couldn't bear the thought of not at least talking to him beforehand.

He squeezed her hand and smiled, nodding slightly.

They rounded a corner and Hermione's heart skipped in fright at the sight of Lucius Malfoy standing commandingly beside the entrance to the dining room. Perhaps it was the fact that he was prone to violence and just plain mean, but Hermione thought he was more intimidating than Draco. The elder Malfoy simply had a different presence than his son, though Draco could be quite frightening at times. The fact that he chose not to use this to his advantage spoke volumes about his character.

"Lucius," said Narcissa, gliding to her husband and slipping her arm through his. "I'd like to present Miss Hermione Granger."

Lucius bowed his head slightly. "It's a pleasure to … see you again, Miss Granger. I'm glad the circumstances are more favorable than the last time. Welcome to our home."

Instinctively, Hermione moved closer to Draco, gripping his hand for support. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy." She couldn't say more, that it was a pleasure to meet him or that she was glad she was there.

"Shall we?" he said, indicating the open door and then leading his wife through it.

Draco pulled his hand free and flexed it, wincing slightly. "Remind me never to make you angry."

"I'm sorry!" she whispered, taking his hand and massaging it.

He raised an eyebrow as she kneaded his palm. "As much as I want you to keep doing that, we shouldn't make them wait." Hermione started to speak but he cut her off. "You're doing fine. Just breathe."

She nodded and let Draco escort her into the room. It was magnificent, though not as big as she'd expected. In size, it was actually smaller than Pansy's dining room, but the décor and the detail was far richer.

Draco showed her to the seat beside Lucius and took the one catty-cornered from her, beside Narcissa. It was the same basic arrangement they'd sat in at Pansy's house, and Hermione couldn't help the inclination to sit on the edge of the chair farthest from the senior Malfoy.

Hermione immediately recognized the formal place setting and knew she was in for a long meal.

Narcissa tapped her wine glass and the first course appeared. Hermione ate her soup even though her stomach was unsettled from nerves. She had hoped that they would calm, but so far they hadn't.

"We decided to serve French food tonight," Narcissa said, addressing Hermione after a few minutes. "There are so many delicious entrees I want Draco to try."

"I love French food," Hermione remarked.

"Oh?" Narcissa hadn't bothered to disguise the surprise in her voice.

Hermione nodded. "I traveled there numerous times with my family growing up."

"That's wonderful!" the woman exclaimed, her enthusiasm genuine. "I suppose you know we've just returned from an extended holiday."

She smiled. "I'm sure you had a wonderful time."

"Tell me, Miss Granger," said Lucius, his tone a mixture of boredom and mischief. "What do you think of this room?"

Hermione gave the room a more thorough inspection than she had at first glance. It was open and airy with three sets of French doors on one wall. The table was long but not ridiculously so, and two chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each mount surrounded by an elaborate, round medallion.

The walls were very tall, at least twelve feet, and were painted a very soft blue-green. A white chair rail ran around the room at about her eye level, and beneath it were panels of intricate molding. The ceiling was trayed, with more detailed molding forming steps from the lowest level to the highest. Finally, the floors were a warm, beautiful, and dark wood, and a beautiful Persian rug framed the table and chairs.

"It's lovely," she replied, forcing a small smile.

"Draco designed it while I was in prison," Lucius remarked, sending his son an unreadable look.

Hermione glanced up to find Draco watching her. "It's a very nice room." What was she supposed to say?

"What happened to the old dining room?" Lucius asked.

Draco's expression was mostly blank, but Hermione caught hints of confusion and anger. "I … burned it."

The man's jaw dropped. "You … burned it?"

"Lucius," said Narcissa quietly.

Now Hermione was confused, as it appeared Lucius truly hadn't been expecting that answer.

"Yes, Father," Draco sighed.

"Why?" he demanded.

Draco met his father's irate gaze and didn't waver. "Too many awful things happened in that room. It gave me nightmares until I did something about it."

Lucius maintained his rage but only just. His hand was wrapped around his soup spoon and his jaw clenched tightly. "What's in there now?"

"Storage."

"Lucius," repeated Narcissa firmly, placing a hand on his arm.

The rest of the course passed in silence. Lucius glared at Draco, who alternated between staring at the wall and Hermione. Narcissa looked completely at ease and continued her potage as though her husband wasn't glaring daggers at her son.

Eventually Lucius relaxed and quickly finished his soup. Then Narcissa tapped her wine glass again, and the dishes and flatware were cleared away. Moments later, the main course was served: a roast duck with wine sauce, plus potatoes au gratin and a vegetable medley.

"So, Hermione," began Narcissa. "What do your parents do?"

The meal continued with halting, awkward conversation, with Draco commenting sparsely and Lucius even more so. When Narcissa placed her knife and fork together on the plate at six o'clock, the fork on the left and knife on the right, Hermione breathed a mental sigh of relief. The meal was over; she had made it through. All she wanted now was a long, hot bath, a glass of wine, and a good book.

"I fancy a walk through the gardens," Narcissa announced.

Hermione was thrilled; she would finally get some time alone with Draco. He came to her chair and helped her out, then formally placed her arm through his.

"What are you doing?" Hermione whispered.

He blinked. "We're going for a walk."

They followed Lucius and Narcissa to the back of the house and then outside.

"I thought _they_ were going to walk," Hermione said.

Draco chuckled. "Yes, well, we can't be trusted alone, so we're going along as well."

Hermione lifted her eyes in exasperation just as they passed Draco's parents, who had stopped on the veranda.

"They will follow at a respectable distance," Draco explained. "To give us privacy but to keep us within sight."

At that, Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's ridiculous. I suppose they've no idea I can get into your room whenever I wish."

"No." He smirked.

"Listen, about tomorrow," she said. "I know you'll be busy, but I thought we could have lunch together."

"Absolutely." He gave her hand a small squeeze.

"Why don't you come through then, and we can eat in the Great Hall."

Draco frowned. "I thought the idea was to spend time together."

"After lunch, we'll walk around the grounds a bit," she explained. "Until it's time for us to return."

He stiffened. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"I thought I'd join you for the rest of the day," she replied, not sure why his voice was suddenly strained. "I could help …."

"Hermione." It sounded as though he was trying very hard to conceal a vast well of emotions and only barely managing. The very edge of her name trembled slightly. "You won't be here tomorrow night."

His confident words instantly flared her anger. "Why not?" she snapped.

"Please tell me you aren't serious," he said.

Hermione tensed, readying herself for an argument. "I'm perfectly serious, Draco. Tomorrow night is an important time for you. I want to be there for you."

"Have you considered the fact that there will be at least four Death Eaters present?" he snapped.

She rolled her eyes. "Not this again. I'm not afraid of them."

"That is beside the point," he hissed. "You've been trembling all evening just eating dinner with _one_ Death Eater who's been on his best behavior. You're not coming and that's final."

Hermione was ready for an argument, well aware that his parents were mere yards behind them. "Draco—"

"No," he said adamantly. "If you think for one instant that I'm going to let you into a room full of people who either hate you, look down on you, or worse, then you don't know me at all." He didn't move away from her, but put distance between them nonetheless. His grip on her hand slackened.

"You're being over-dramatic," she insisted when he paused to catch his breath. "I can take care of myself."

He clenched his jaw. "Once again, let me assure you that I do not doubt your abilities as a witch. I have every faith that you would come out on top should you come across a Death Eater." He stressed the last two words for emphasis. "However, even you must know that you wouldn't stand much of a chance in a room full of them, if they decided to have a go."

"You'd be there," she said defiantly.

"Be realistic, Hermione!" he pleaded. "I don't want to fight you, but this is one time when I'm not giving an inch. I will ward the property against you and block the Floo if I must. You're _not_ coming to the party!"

Hermione huffed. "I just want to be there for you."

"I know," he said warily. "But the best thing you can do for me is stay away. If you were there, I couldn't be with you the entire time, as you know, though I would want to be. And when I wasn't, I'd be thinking and worrying about you."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. No party."

Draco exhaled in relief.

"May I be in your room, though?" she asked. "If I promise not to leave?"

He gave her a stern look. "I'll just ward the door."

"Don't you trust me?" she asked, somewhat teasingly.

"I do," he acknowledged. Then he let out a long breath. "If you promise to stay in my room, I will agree to let you."

She smiled. "I promise. I will remain ensconced in your rooms until the party is over."

"Thank you," he said, chuckling lightly. "I suppose you're never going to make things easy for me, are you?"

"Not when you insist on being ridiculous and overprotective." Before he could speak, she quickly added, "Though I agree with you on this occasion."

Draco tugged her arm to pull her closer and then wrapped an arm around her waist. "It's good that you stand up to me, as annoying and exasperating as it can be."

"Why is that?"

Before he could respond, Narcissa called out, "My goodness!"

Draco and Hermione stopped and turned.

"I'm rather exhausted," she said, yawning.

"That means the night is over," Draco mumbled. Then, much louder, he said, "As you wish, Mother."

Lucius and Narcissa waited for them to head back to the house and followed, again at a respectable distance.

Once inside the Manor, Narcissa took Hermione's arm and led her to the front door. "It's been a delight to have you in our home, Hermione. We simply must do it again, and soon."

"That sounds nice," Hermione lied, forcing a smile.

Narcissa patted her arm. "Now, now. I know you don't necessarily feel the same way. _I_ for one enjoyed getting to know you a bit." She smiled. "I have a feeling we'll be spending more time together in the future."

Hermione doubted it, not just because she wanted to avoid spending time near Lucius, but also because she couldn't stop the voice that had been steadily growing in the back of her mind since they discovered the blackmailer. Draco needed his time away, time to be alone and irresponsible. Time, that in all likelihood, would not include his parents or her. All she could hope was that in the end, he returned to her.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"Would you like to Apparate home, or Floo?" Narcissa asked as they neared the Traveling Room.

"Floo, please," Hermione said.

They stopped just outside the room and Lucius spoke. "Thank you for joining us this evening, Miss Granger."

He almost managed to convince Hermione that he wasn't completely repulsed by her presence. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," she replied stiffly. "Enjoy your dinner party tomorrow night."

"You won't be there?" Narcissa asked, somewhat surprised.

"No, I'm afraid I have other plans," Hermione said.

Both of Draco's parents visibly relaxed. "Well, you'll be missed," said Narcissa politely.

"Thank you." Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot at the blatant lie.

"Good night, then," smiled Narcissa, taking her husband's arm and turning them away. They stopped down the hall, far enough not to be intrusive, but close enough to see.

Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing of it. "See you tomorrow," she said to Draco, smiling slightly. Her entire body hummed with the anticipation of imminent relief.

He moved in close, smirking as he tilted her face up to meet his, covering her lips softly with his. Hermione sighed, instantly forgetting that his parents were watching, and returned the gentle kiss. She wrapped her arms around his lithe frame and pulled him closer.

Just when she hoped he would deepen the kiss, he pulled away, and she remembered where they were. Her cheeks reddened and she couldn't look toward where the Malfoys were standing.

"Good night, Draco," she said, turning on her heel and entering the room.

"See you tomorrow," he said in a velvet-smooth, goose bump inducing tone.

Draco leaned on the doorframe, his fringe falling lightly in his eyes, and casually stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was so handsome, so at ease, that Hermione had the sudden impulse to drag him away with her and lock him in her suite at Hogwarts for the rest of the weekend.

"Tomorrow," she stuttered, smiling shyly before stepping into the fireplace and disappearing.

**ooo**

**End Notes**: Thanks for reading! Chapter title taken from "There For You" by Flyleaf, one of the songs on this week's playlist by inadaze22. Chapter art by sb123 of LJ.


	23. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Warning: **Mildly disturbing imagery near the beginning.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 23**** - - Down the Rabbit Hole**

**- - -**

Draco stood in the drawing room after dinner, a glass of wine in hand and a forced smile on his face. Pansy and Hyacinth were arguing over which brocade Narcissa should use when redoing the armchairs in the room.

"Dear, it's nearing winter," repeated Hyacinth testily. "A bright, sunny blue simply wouldn't be appropriate."

"Yellows are sunny," Pansy rebutted haughtily. "And I doubt she'll be redoing the furniture every season. The light blue would go so nicely with the fabric for the drapes she showed us a few minutes ago."

"Oh, Theodore," purred Hyacinth, reaching out to snag Nott's arm. She pulled him to stand between herself and Pansy, smiling as she practically shoved the young man into her daughter.

It was more than clear to Draco what Hyacinth thought of her daughter's choice in Greg. She'd ignored him all evening, dismissed anything he said, and suggested that Pansy would do well to look Theo's way when Greg was close by and more than able to hear. Draco wanted to banish the woman from his home.

"You have impeccable taste," she continued. "What do you think of this color?" With a wave of her wand, she adjusted the fabric to Pansy's color of choice.

Theo sent Draco an exasperated look before turning to the chairs and the impossible question he was supposed to answer.

"I like the light blue," Theo said with a shrug. "But I'm no expert."

Hyacinth appeared torn, and Draco nearly laughed at the ridiculous expression on her face. At first, she seemed annoyed with his response, but then realized he'd agreed with Pansy—which obviously meant the two were destined for each other.

As he feigned further interest in the ever-escalating disagreement between mother and daughter, Draco kept a covert eye on his uncles. Rabastan stood huddled in the corner with a bottle of scotch, swaying as he muttered to himself. Rodolphus, ever sullen and unkempt, was in deep discussion with Greg's father. Draco blinked at the pair; it made him nervous.

When he'd greeted his uncles earlier in the evening, he searched for any visible signs that Rodolphus was the blackmailer. The man shook his hand, looked him in the eye, and mumbled before heading for the bar. No remorse, no shame—not that Draco should have expected it from a man who took perverse pleasure from magically disemboweling his very much living victims through their mouths.

Draco shuddered and resumed listening to Pansy and her mother squabble. Theo was caught in the middle, unable to completely please either woman.

"Hey, mate," said Greg quietly, hoping to avoid gaining the attention of Pansy's mother.

Slightly relieved, Draco allowed a small smile for his friend. "Enjoying yourself?"

Greg sent Pansy a wary glance and shrugged. "One day she'll decide I'm not worth the constant bickering."

"Give her some credit," Draco encouraged. He had many reasons to doubt Pansy's loyalty, but at the same time, he'd never seen her so happy and content.

As they talked, Pansy caught Greg watching her and sent him a sly wink.

He swallowed hard. "It's just … I'm in way over my head. For me, it's been her for so long, but she only just decided to give me a chance. I'm doomed."

Draco chuckled wryly, thinking he was in a similar position. "I know how you feel. That sense of an impending end."

Greg frowned. "Hermione?"

_Crap_. "Never mind," Draco mumbled. Ever since talking with his father the day before, he'd been feeling slightly … unsettled … and it had started with his father's question about marriage.

Though Draco had no desire to settle down at this stage in his life, he also knew that when he did, he would want it to be with Hermione. She wasn't even close to feeling the same way he did, and the thought of her moving on was too awful to contemplate. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep her long enough that her feelings would align with his.

The strange unknown that would characterize his life following tonight's confrontation was daunting. Even though he had lived for the end of his stint as head of Malfoy Inc., it was all he'd known for seven full years. He'd always envisioned buying a plane ticket to somewhere he couldn't pronounce the same hour he relinquished the position, but now that he was on the brink of that moment, he was torn.

The last thing he wanted was to lose Hermione now that he had her. If he did as he'd always planned, headed somewhere to relax and forget England for a while, he had no doubt Charlie Weasley wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of his absence. It's exactly what he would do in Charlie's position.

But if he stayed … if he didn't run off right away, waited a while, perhaps he could convince Hermione to come with him.

As he took a sip of wine, he heard a rich, deep laugh float from the other side of the room. He didn't have to turn his head to know the sound belonged to his father.

He wasn't nervous. Years of learning and perfecting self-control had taught him to compartmentalize his emotions, especially the strong ones. Yet if he looked at his father, nerves would start bubbling in the pit of his gut, and he would start worrying about what he had to do. Confronting clients, business partners, or friends was nothing compared to the idea of telling his father the truth about the blackmailing—and then accusing his uncle of perpetrating the crime.

Lucius …. Draco wasn't looking forward to his father's reaction. He'd spent the entire day trying to anticipate what his father would do and say. He expected anger at first, accompanied by accusations and disbelief.

Without a conscious thought to do it, Draco reached into his pocket and touched the small vial of Veritaserum that he'd bottled earlier. The Ministry's guidelines on the use of the Truth Serum were impossible to enforce. Besides, according to Article Three, Section One, Veritaserum was allowed 'in the lawful interrogation of a person or persons known to be guilty in order to determine other factors involved in the crime that may lead to the continuance of life for another party.' Hermione had agreed that, loosely interpreted, Draco's situation fit perfectly.

Though Draco hoped his father would believe him simply because he was his son, he was under no such delusions and brought the back-up plan. Really, the only plan. Lucius would have to believe him after hearing it from Rodolphus' own mouth.

"Honestly, Draco, how can you have no opinion?"

Pansy's shrill voice broke through his thoughts, and Draco glanced up to see her, Hyacinth, and Theo watching him expectantly.

"You'd be surprised at the number of things about which I have no opinion," he dead-panned.

Pansy rolled her eyes and looked at Greg. "What do you think?" Her tone this time was tentative.

Greg paled slightly and took his time examining both temporary samples of fabric covering the chairs. Then with a resigned sigh, he said, "If it were me, I'd prefer a rich, gold fabric over both of these."

Draco didn't bother trying to hide his grin. Hyacinth turned red in the face, Pansy's eyes widened, and Theo let out a chuckle. With a flick, Pansy turned the fabric to gold, and the matter was entirely settled. Draco was surprised at how well the color worked and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"I should tell Narcissa," said Hyacinth, avoiding Greg as she hurried away.

Theo quickly took his leave, and Draco was left with his two closest friends.

As Pansy hugged Greg, she gave Draco a critical look. "Are you okay?"

He blinked. "Of course." It simply wasn't possible that she detected his deeply buried frayed nerves.

"Hermione isn't here," she explained.

"Did you expect her?" he asked, frowning.

"I …. Well, now that you mention it, I suppose not." She glanced around the room until he gaze fell on Rabastan. "Definitely not."

Dimly, Draco could hear the large, wall clock start chiming and he counted. When it struck ten, he knew his father would soon be issuing the men into smoking room for cigars and 'proper' conversation.

"Why must dinner parties always last so long?" Pansy whined, casting a mournful glance at her shoes. "My feet hurt."

"Not much longer, love," said Greg softly, giving Pansy's hand a gentle squeeze.

Pansy smiled at him in a way that made Draco avert his gaze. As he absently scanned the room, it occurred to him that Pansy had no idea how to act in a real relationship. She'd never been with anyone like Greg before, and Draco hoped that her allegiance to him wasn't simply a reaction to her mother's disapproval.

Without meaning to, Draco's gaze swept past his father, and a rush of nervousness set his senses on edge. When Lucius looked at his son, the immediate wave of panic was replaced with extreme calm. Draco had been preparing his speech for the better part of a week, and the only real possible hitch to the plan was getting his father alone.

Lucius broke eye contact and made the announcement for the men and women to separate.

Draco tipped back the rest of his wine and followed the other men from the room.

Twenty minutes later, Draco was ready. Rodolphus was once again in deep conversation with Joel Goyle, and Rabastan was hovering over Greg, blowing cigar smoke in his face and cackling. Greg looked miserable.

Lucius was talking lightly with Theo about a piece that had just come into his shop. The item was an 18th-century piece of jewelry, and at the previous dinner party, Lucius had mentioned that he was looking for something for Narcissa and for Theo to let him know if anything came in.

It would be the perfect time to request his father's presence, so Draco took a deep breath, thought of Hermione upstairs in his room, pacing nervously, and started for the corner where his father stood.

"… I'll certainly put it aside for you," Theo was saying as Draco neared them.

"I appreciate that," Lucius replied, swirling his brandy.

"Father," said Draco. "Forgive the interruption. May I speak with you privately?"

Lucius frowned very slightly. "Of course. Is everything all right?"

Draco's smile came easily. "Yes. Excuse us, Theo. Oh, Greg might appreciate some assistance."

Theo nodded, glanced in Greg's direction, and sighed. "I'm on it."

"What's this about?" Lucius murmured once Theo was out of hearing range.

"I'd prefer we spoke in the hallway," Draco said, nodding toward the door. When Lucius hesitated, he added, "It's important."

"If you insist," Lucius conceded. He took a quick look around the room, making sure everyone was sufficiently engaged in conversation, then followed Draco out.

Draco led them around a corner before stopping. "Father …" he said without turning. With the moment finally at hand, the moment he'd been waiting for and thinking about for seven years, Draco was completely calm. The plan had been set in motion, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing he _would_ do to stop it.

"I think it's time you took this back." Draco twisted the Malfoy ring off his finger and extended it to his father.

Lucius frowned and accepted the ring, slowly putting it on his hand. "Your timing is … odd."

"My timing is premeditated," Draco began, clasping his hands behind his back. "There is something I can only tell you within the window of revelation available to me at the surrender of that ring."

Intrigued, Lucius nodded. "Continue."

"For the last seven years … someone has been blackmailing me." Draco pulled in a deep breath and waited.

Lucius only blinked. "I see. Why couldn't you tell me sooner?"

Slightly taken aback at his father's non-reaction, Draco replied, "There was a dark and ancient curse on the blackmail letters that prevented me from communicating this to anyone in my family. As you know, the Rites of Transference supersede all such curses."

"Naturally," Lucius intoned. "Still, why are you telling me this now?"

"The letters started soon after your imprisonment, and the material used was evidence that would keep you in prison for longer, likely life," Draco continued. "I believed that once you were released, the letters would stop. They have not, and I'm tired of meeting the blackmailer's demands."

Now Lucius' frown deepened significantly. "You're _still_ getting letters? Now?"

Draco nodded. "I received one two weeks ago."

Lucius clenched his jaw. "No doubt you're anxious to be rid of the problem."

"You have no idea," Draco remarked. "You commented on one of the main sources of frustration yesterday—the deplorable contributions I've made to various organizations. My hands have been absolutely tied by the situation, crippled from doing any more than what I've done."

Lucius scowled. "Aren't you exaggerating just a bit?"

Now Draco frowned, thoroughly confused. "Exaggerating? I think not, Father. You try finding a few spare Galleons to contribute when you're being robbed of a hundred thousand every two or three months!"

At that, Lucius blanched; his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. He closed it, then opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. After another moment of attempting to control his breathing, Lucius said, "How much?"

This was more like how Draco had expected his father to react. "One hundred thousand Galleons."

"Every other month?" Lucius asked, incredulous.

Draco nodded. "Which is why I'd like your permission to give Rodolphus Veritaserum."

Again, Lucius didn't react the way Draco had anticipated. He'd thought Lucius would get even angrier and either accuse Draco of lying, or threaten to kill his brother-in-law. Instead, he looked skeptically at his son. "Rodolphus? What makes you think it's him?"

"I know it is him," Draco answered. "But I thought you would prefer to hear his admission rather than my accusation."

"But why _now_? Tonight?" Lucius demanded.

"Because he's here," Draco insisted, frustrated. "I thought you'd want to confront him. He can't get away with this—you can't ignore it!"

Lucius straightened and looked his son in the eye. "You're right. He certainly won't get away with anything."

"Would you like to use the Serum?" Draco asked. "I have some prepared."

"No," his father replied. "That won't be necessary. There are more … recreational, if not always more successful, ways of getting answers."

Draco swallowed hard. "Father, remember, you've only been out of prison for three months."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "I certainly don't need reminders from you. So if you'll excuse me, I'll go and deal with your uncle now." He didn't wait for a response and turned on his heel to march down the hall to the smoking room.

Something didn't feel right, and Draco followed, reaching into an inner pocket for a simple, thin piece of string. He waited until Lucius had cleared the room and all the men had returned to the drawing room before threading the Extendable Ear under the door.

There was no mistaking Lucius' booming voice. "… you thinking?" he shouted. "How many hundreds of thousands of Galleons did you take from my son?"

Rodolphus' voice was strained, but not frightened. "It was only supposed to be the first time!" he cried. "Living on the run, constantly in fear of discovery, hiding all the time isn't easy, Lucius."

"Ten thousand Galleons every month should be more than sufficient to see to your needs," the elder Malfoy countered. "Why didn't you stick to the plan?"

"The money went quickly … at first," Rodolphus said. "After the first few times …. I suppose we got a bit … greedy. Besides, I couldn't very well lower the amount."

"It never should have been so high in the first place!" Lucius roared. "Have you any idea the hardships you put on my son? Ten thousand Galleons a month would have been barely missed, twenty, thirty, even, but you practically ensured that he would go into debt to pay you! I'm honestly amazed that he kept the company afloat as well as he did."

Draco sat heavily on the floor by the door. Nothing made sense—or else it made so much sense that he couldn't process it all. He'd known all along; Lucius had known about the blackmailing from the very beginning! He had sanctioned it!

Draco felt entirely numb, his thoughts halting, unable to get over the fact that his father had approved his uncle blackmailing him for seven years. The truth was an enormous mental block, preventing all other thought.

This was the reason why Lucius didn't react the way Draco had expected. He hadn't been surprised until he'd heard the bloody amount! Even years serving under Voldemort hadn't conditioned him well enough to remain stoic upon that revelation.

After a few minutes, Draco registered that sound was still coming from the Ear.

"… have you done with it?" asked Lucius.

"Been squirreling it away," replied Rodolphus, "using it as we needed."

"And just how much do you have sitting around?"

"Million and a half," said his uncle.

Draco's eyes lifted. So much? Just … sitting somewhere?

"Did you … take care of your charges?" Lucius asked. "So help me, if you let that task slip—"

"No, no!" Rodolphus rushed. "Of course I did, every single time. As instructed."

Lucius' voice was more relaxed. "Good. I'm glad I don't have to risk a return to Azkaban tonight."

Rodolphus made a strained squeaking noise. "I-I'm sorry, Lucius."

The sound of smacking skin, followed by his uncle's outcry, hurt Draco's ears.

"No. I'm sorry," Lucius seethed. "You're a pitiful man, Rodolphus. When our association ends, I never want to see you again. Is that understood?"

"Y-Yes," the other man stuttered.

"Good. Now get out."

Draco scrambled up and ran around the corner just as his uncle came storming through the door. He stood leaning against the wall, his heart pounding, as the truth seemed to settle in his bones.

His father had known, but not only that, he'd approved of his uncle blackmailing him. Just because the amount had been more than Lucius had agreed to didn't lessen the sting. And apparently, there was something still going on that involved the two men, and Draco's mind immediately leapt to Samaya's letter from Rabastan.

Rodolphus had repeatedly said 'we' and who else could he have meant but his brother? Lucius had funded their hiding from the Ministry and was working with them. Coupled with what had happened at the last dinner party, Rabastan insisting that only Lucius could be the next Dark Lord….

Draco fisted his hair, pulling until he felt pain. There was something else going on; he remembered the discussion with Lucius the day before, where his father assured him he wasn't going to join with his uncles. He must have gotten around the question because the truth was he already had.

"Draco?"

He released his hair and looked at his father, the numbness still covering him like a shroud. "Yes?"

"I've … taken care of things with your uncle." He took a hesitant step forward.

Draco nodded, a small well of anger stirring. What had Lucius done except scold and threaten? Lucius clapped his son on the back in what Draco thought was supposed to be a comforting manner. It only served to twist the knife and hurt more.

"Come," Lucius said, his voice holding a slightly commanding tone. "We mustn't abandon the dinner party."

"I hardly care about that," Draco muttered.

"Understandable. Nevertheless, we won't leave your mother without her family."

At that, Draco became furious with his father. Apparently it was okay to allow his son to be blackmailed for seven years, but he couldn't leave his wife alone with her guests for too long.

Again, Draco only nodded, and as he returned to the drawing room, he debated over whether or not he should tell his father he knew the truth. His gut instinct said no, that he needed to know what 'association' he had with Rodolphus first, he needed all the facts.

The final half hour of the party was the worst kind of torture. Pretending nothing was wrong, that he didn't feel utterly betrayed by his father, was possibly the hardest thing Draco had ever done. On top of that, he had to ignore the burning hole in his head from Rodolphus' stare.

Fortunately, when the Lestrange brothers made their exit at quarter after eleven, the rest of the guests followed quickly. Draco wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and stay there for a week while he sorted out what he'd learned.

"We must talk," Lucius commanded, when he and Narcissa returned from seeing the last guest off.

Narcissa was surprised, but agreed, and Draco followed them to the office. Out of habit, he started around the large desk, but remembered that he had given the ring to his father and now that right was his. Instead, he sat beside his mother, opposite his father.

"I have some … unsettling news, Cissa," Lucius began.

"Oh?" Her brow was furrowed with worry. "Is everything all right?"

Lucius sighed. "It has been brought to my attention—tonight—that our son has been the victim of blackmail these past seven years."

Narcissa let out a small gasp and drew her hand to her mouth. She was the perfect image of stunned horror, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. As Draco looked at her, he was unwilling to believe what his gut now shouted.

"That's terrible!" she breathed.

"Indeed," Lucius replied through clenched teeth. "For a grand total of over three million Galleons."

Now Draco got the appropriate reaction from his mother. She paled, her hands started to shake, her eyes now contained abject horror. "Oh …!"

It was almost more than Draco could bear. His mother—the woman he had lived with for seven years, shared a life with, grown closer to, built a relationship with—had also known about the blackmail. She, too, was only surprised at the amount.

"H-How did this happen?" she whispered, looking to her husband.

"Rodolphus was the perpetrator," Lucius began. "Draco came to me with the information this evening, and I in turn confronted our brother-in-law. He admitted to the crime and will not be repeating it."

Narcissa turned to her son. "Oh, Draco! Why didn't you say anything? I had no idea! Why …." Her eyes went even wider. "Oh, Merlin, those trips to Paris! Draco, you should have come to me!"

Draco's first thoughts were bitter. She was only saying this because of how much money Rodolphus had taken from them, and she seemed to have forgotten that blackmail had been the plan all along.

"I couldn't, Mother." He was surprised at the blank tone he'd managed.

"There was a curse involved," Lucius explained. "Which prohibited him from speaking of the matter with anyone. I'm curious, Son, how you discovered his identity despite this roadblock."

He wouldn't reveal Hermione's involvement. With his parents involved with Rodolphus and Rabastan, he couldn't trust them with the truth. "He eventually gave himself away," Draco replied flatly. "In his last letter."

Lucius' face pinked. "You said that he continued to assail you after my release. I'd forgotten that."

"He did." A strange numbness crept into Draco's bones.

Narcissa gasped again.

"How?" Lucius asked.

"Different blackmail material," he said wryly. "Keeping you in jail was no longer a threat. If he turned in his evidence, I would have sent you away, got you into hiding. There would have been no threat; I'd have made sure you were safe." The knife continued to twist of its own accord. Draco had made back-up plans and arrangements in the event that he was unable to meet the blackmailer's demands. _He_ had put his family first, only to discover that they had betrayed him all along.

"What new evidence did he present?" Lucius asked.

It occurred to Draco that since the continued blackmail was not in the original plan, his father might have no idea about his mother's dalliances. Even though he was angry—or should be; he was too numb to feel much of anything—Draco didn't want to destroy his parents' happiness. Their relationship had been rocky for most of Draco's childhood, and they only seemed to have grown closer in the years before Lucius' imprisonment. As much as he wanted to hurt them for hurting him, they were also his parents, and he wanted them together.

"Draco?" his father pressed.

"It … it was personal." It would never work, not revealing the truth, but at least he had tried. At least he had made an attempt at not revealing his mother's secrets.

"Draco."

He looked at his mother as if to apologize. She paled even more and turned to Lucius, her eyes wide with fear. Their gaze remained locked for several moments before Narcissa spoke.

"It was a long time ago."

Lucius nodded, jaw clenched, and returned his attention to Draco. "In what … form was the evidence presented?"

"Pictures," he replied.

Narcissa shut her eyes.

"Lots of them," Draco added, hoping to return a bit of the blinding pain.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, looking first to Draco and then to Lucius. "Truly I am."

Lucius stood and went to the window, turning his back to his wife and son. "We've been through some difficult times, and we have always come through. We will again."

Draco wasn't sure if he was talking to both of them, or just his mother. "What's to be done about Rodolphus?"

The elder Malfoy picked up a paperweight, a small glass globe, and rolled it from hand to hand. "I've taken care of him. There will be no more blackmail letters."

"I figured as much," Draco stated, anger flaring. "I want him in prison. Where he belongs."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," said Lucius carefully.

Draco didn't hesitate. "Why not?"

"For one, he's no longer in this house, and I don't know where he lives," Lucius replied smoothly. "I highly doubt he'll be inclined to accept any invitations from us for a long while."

"Why didn't you do something when you had him?" Draco asked, standing from his seat. "Why did you just let him go?"

Lucius regarded him momentarily. "I have my reasons—"

"What possible reason could you have—"

"—which I don't feel particularly inclined—"

"—for letting him walk away, scot free—"

"—to share at this time!" Lucius roared, cutting Draco off. His tone was more genuine when he spoke again. "I am sorry, Son. For the strain his actions put you under."

"Strain?" Draco laughed bitterly. "You have no idea about strain, Father. Just ask Mum! I worked every waking moment for this company, this _family_. I had no life, no relationships, nothing for myself. I gave all of my time to keeping the blackm—_Rodolphus_ at bay! I sacrificed more for this family than you have ever done, so don't talk to me about strain!"

"Draco—"

"Tell him, Mum," he shouted. "Since he wasn't here, tell Father about the weeks that passed where you didn't see me at all, had to write a letter just to contact me. How we scheduled dinners together months in advance and then had to hope nothing came up to interrupt our plans."

Narcissa nodded, tears falling.

"And that's not even the half of it!" Draco continued. Merlin, it felt good to finally let out all the anger he'd built over the years, but he never imagined it would be his own parents on whom he expelled it. "I lived on uppers and stimulants to keep myself going. I have liver problems at twenty-five as a result! I forsook sleep and food more times than I can count! I invested, cut corners, trimmed this company so that it now runs with the utmost efficiency."

Now he looked at Lucius, and when he spoke, his voice was calm. "Why? Because that's what was required to find or make or unlock four _million_ Galleons over seven years. I did it, because I had to." He sighed. "But I'm sick of it. I gave you three more months, so you and Mother could holiday all over Europe, but now I am _done_. Don't come to me when your employees don't respond favorably, or when you need someone to speak to the Muggles for you. Don't ask me to help you, teach you—nothing! I had to figure everything out for myself, and now you do too. And don't you dare speak to me about the _strain _I've been under. Father."

Neither of his parents spoke immediately. Narcissa was crying softly while Lucius looked torn between pride at his son's accomplishments and insult at being spoken to in such a way.

"Apologize to your mother," Lucius said finally.

"I won't," he responded immediately. "I refuse to apologize, either for my life over the last seven years or my refusal to participate any further."

"I believe you said you would assist me for two weeks," Lucius remarked.

"That's true, I did," Draco allowed. "But that was before you chose to do nothing about Rodolphus, the man who made my life miserable."

"Draco," said Lucius, his tone almost … pleading? "I cannot simply return to the business without some instruction. That you did it, with no guidance, is remarkable. However, I am not so … adaptable as you."

Draco wanted to turn his father down outright.

"Please," said Lucius.

Draco scowled. His father had never pleaded for anything before, and despite how angry he was, Draco simply couldn't refuse. "Fine," he mumbled. "One week. But that's it. Don't bother asking for more."

"Understood," Lucius quipped. "Thank you."

"Draco, please don't be angry," said Narcissa, reaching for his hand.

He snatched it away instinctually, instantly regretting it and then scolding himself for feeling anything other contempt for his parents at that moment. Later, sure, once he'd gone through everything in his mind and done his best to make sense of what he'd learned.

"Mum, what do you expect me to feel?" he asked tiredly.

He had to be careful not to let his parents see the true depth of his anger. The idea had occurred to him to investigate what his parents were up to with Rodolphus. If he were to do that successfully, they couldn't know that he _knew_ that they'd known about the blackmailing. Otherwise, they would lie their way out of it and then cover everything up. Draco doubted the answers would be easy to find as things stood, much less if his parents went around covering their tracks. His head ached thinking about it. Thank Merlin he was only a few minutes from being fast asleep.

She paused, her brow furrowing in thought. "You're right. Just know that we love you and everything we do is for you."

Draco frowned, unable to reconcile her statement with everything that had happened in the last hour. Nor could he return the sentiment.

"I think I'll head to bed," he mumbled, his anger reignited by his mother's declaration. How could she in good conscience say such a thing?

"Good night, dear," Narcissa said, forcing a small smile.

"Night, Mother. Father." He nodded to both of them and left without being dismissed.

Each step from the office to his room felt like he was walking with lead bricks for feet. Though his bedroom meant relief and sanctuary, he would also be left alone with what happened and forced to _think_ about everything. That, or down a Dreamless Draught and postpone he inevitable until the next day.

With seemingly great effort, Draco opened his bedroom door and removed his outer robes. As he started unbuttoning his shirt, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed, staring vacantly ahead of him. His mind blanked entirely with his hands on the third button, and he remained motionless until something moved in his periphery.

"Hey." Hermione smiled sleepily at him from the doorway of the closet room, wrapped in a blanket.

All the feelings and reactions that he'd held at bay slammed into him at once, leaving him almost gasping for breath. "Hey."

Her smile faltered as she took in his haggard, lost appearance. "You okay?"

Draco shook his head.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, looking him over as she came nearer.

Again, he shook his head.

"Did you tell your father?"

He nodded.

"How did he take it?"

The question seemed to bounce around in Draco's empty skull for an eternity. He barely noticed Hermione sit on the bed beside him, worry etched on her face.

"Draco?" Her voice was hesitant. "You're frightening me."

The blunt honesty in her admission cut through some of the fog, and Draco looked at her, knowing his eyes and expression would be empty. "I'm sorry about that," he muttered. "I don't mean to."

Hermione's frown deepened. "You haven't answered me. How did Lucius take your accusation?"

"He … he knew," he whispered as though he'd just discovered the truth.

"What did he know?" she asked.

"He knew about Rodolphus." The truth was even harder to say out loud than it was to think. His voice sounded alien to his ears, hollow, as though it was sucking light from the air around him.

"What do you …?" She trailed off, her eyes growing wide. "No. That can't be true."

Draco shrugged. "It is. What's worse, he not only knew, but he approved. They've got something going on. I don't know what it is, but I think it involves Rabastan, too."

Hermione could only shake her head; words failed her.

"My mother knew too," he whispered, that truth cutting deepest of them all.

"No!" Her whisper was horrified.

Draco nodded numbly. "All these years …. I just knew she was my ally. Even though she didn't know what was happening to me, she was on my side. She …."

After a moment, Hermione said, "What happened to your uncle?"

He scoffed. "My father talked to him. I listened in …. He just scolded Rodolphus for blackmailing me for too much. It was supposed to be for ten thousand Galleons, not a hundred thousand."

"You can't be serious!" she exclaimed.

"That's it. Well, that and a reminder to 'Stick to the plan, Rodolphus.'" At Hermione's incredulous look, he continued. "There's a plan, as I said. I don't know much, just that my uncles are both probably involved. I think it has something to do with Rabastan's letter to Samaya's father … I think they're trying to build an army with my father at the head."

Hermione placed her hand on Draco's arm, and the touch seared through the rest of the fog.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I … I have no idea," he said, shoulders slumped, feeling more alone and defeated than ever.

Lightly, tentatively, Hermione trailed her fingers down his arm, the pressure nebulous but tantalizing. As she laced her fingers through his, she said, "We'll figure it out tomorrow."

Draco couldn't think; she was so close. He could hear her heart pounding, smell her hair, feel her breath against his skin. The despair in his heart was almost crippling, but her presence lessened the pain. She kissed his head and it was like an electric jolt. Then she kissed his temple, the side of his face, and he turned his head to capture her lips in a desperate, fiery kiss. He needed this; needed her.

It escalated quickly, all thoughts of his parents and the entire evening vanished like so much wind, and as her hands went everywhere, his hands followed. The soft little sounds she made, of delight and desire, spurred him on, and soon he laid her out, nothing between them but the night.

As he made love to Hermione, and as he gazed into her eyes, so full of light and life and need for him, he saw his future. She was his future, was his family, was everything he never thought he'd want or need but everything all the same.

Draco couldn't tell her how he felt, at least not with words; it was far too soon. Instead, with every kiss that seared his soul, every touch that marked his heart, every purposeful movement of his hands, he told her. He shouted it, screamed it, moaned it, whispered it.

He wanted to memorize every line, every dip and curve of her skin. He wanted to imprint her on his mind, her taste, her smell, the feel of her in his arms, writhing under his ministrations. Every sound she made was a symphony, every touch a brand. He was entirely hers and she was his, and he wanted her to know it, to feel and to taste his love.

As they came undone, he realized he could never have it any other way, not after that night. All the empty shags, the pure physical release, couldn't compare to losing himself in the woman he loved and wanted to continue loving for a very long time.

She purred his name in bliss and curled against him, falling asleep as he lightly traced the sweeping bends and arches of her body. Then he kissed her shoulder and allowed sleep to capture him, where he hoped to dream of her.

**ooo**

**End Notes**: Line "nothing between them but the night" borrowed from a song by Garth Brooks called "That Summer." Chapter title taken from Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland." Beta thanks to pokeystar and drcjsnider! Playlist by inadaze22, art this chapter by marshy75.


	24. Working for the Weekend

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 24**** - - Working for the Weekend**

**- - -**

When Hermione awoke, it took her a few seconds to remember where she was, and a few more for the reality of _why_ to sink in. Then she glanced to her right, her heart sparking in slight disappointment at discovering that Draco wasn't there.

Draco ….

She couldn't fight the huge grin that spread across her face, and she buried her face in his pillow with a sudden burst of glee. Then delightful memories of the night before started bursting behind her eyelids. Sleeping with Draco hadn't been her intent, but once he'd kissed her, nothing could have stopped her from responding. Nothing had felt more right than giving herself to him in that moment.

Now, however … the same doubts she'd experienced earlier began to resurface, bright like the swathes of sun that lay over the bed.

Hermione sighed and, grabbing her wand from the bedside table, Summoned her underthings and slipped them on. She glanced quickly around the room, her gaze falling on a robe slung over Draco's butler. With only a moment's pause, she went to the silken garment and wrapped it around her body, tying the band just as the door opened.

She spun around to see Draco enter and close the door.

"Morning," he said amusedly.

Hermione smiled and folded her arms. "Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, motioning to the closet room.

"I did," she replied, following him.

He stopped in the doorway, and when she did too, kissed her hesitantly.

Hermione breathed deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of the scent she had come to associate with him. When she didn't detect it, she took a seat on the sofa. "Did you leave this robe out for me?"

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "I did. It looks good on you."

A sudden bout of insecurity enveloped her, and even though she quickly dashed it away, she was left feeling slightly unsettled. How many times had he done this? Though she didn't see any reason to dwell on his past, it was still important and had led him to this point, to the man sitting across from her with a tired but genuine smile.

"I suppose you've done this a lot," she whispered, looking at her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Done … what, exactly?" he asked with a small frown.

She fidgeted with the seam of his robe. "The, um, awkward morning after routine." When he didn't speak right away, Hermione chanced to look at him.

When their eyes met, he sighed. "You would be surprised," he said quietly. "This is my first time in several years."

"Really?"

"Is it that shocking?" he asked, a daring edge to his voice. "Think about what you know about me."

She did. He had paid a woman to visit him on a weekly basis, but it was a purely physical arrangement; she doubted he kept her around long past the completion of the deed. The other women she'd seen with him, in pictures or in the paper, came and went. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, then her expression softened into a warm smile. So what if he'd been with countless women before? None of them had been granted leave to _stay_.

His last relationship had been six years earlier, probably the last time he had spent the night with someone.

"Where were you?" she asked, not wanting to press him further.

"Breakfast," he said, drawing one leg onto the sofa. "With my parents."

"Oh," she said, surprised. "How long have you been awake?"

Draco's eyes rose over her shoulder and then rested on her once more. "A few hours. Are you hungry?" Hermione nodded, and Draco called, "Chippy!"

The house-elf popped into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. "Yes, Master?"

"Hermione is ready for her breakfast tray," Draco said.

Chippy gave a half-bow, then disappeared.

"It just occurred to me," Draco remarked absently. "Chippy answers to a new Master now."

"That's right—your father." Hermione gasped. "Chippy knows so much! Are you worried?"

Draco shrugged. "Not really. I don't think my father would think to ask the right questions of Chippy, and I know Chippy is loyal enough to me not to volunteer anything."

The house-elf reappeared then, bearing a large, silver tray covered with breakfast trappings: a pile of crepes surrounded by various fillings, a bowl of fresh fruit and another of fresh breads, a pot of hot water with a selection of tea bags, and all the appropriate condiments. A simple bud vase sat on the tray, and in it was a handful of wildflowers.

"Here you go, Miss," said Chippy with another bow, setting the tray on the coffee table before Hermione.

"Thank you," she said. Chippy bowed again and disappeared after a nod from Draco.

Hermione gazed at the food and then at the flowers. Curious, she looked at Draco.

"I've been up awhile," he explained. "Before joining my parents for breakfast, I took a walk on the grounds."

A surge of pure joy welled inside her; Draco had picked flowers for her from his garden. The simple action was a stark contrast to the luxury in which Draco lived. She would have expected large, elaborate bouquets of exotic and rare flowers, not a smattering of hand-picked daisies and poppies. By far she preferred the latter.

"The flowers are lovely." She then set about preparing her first crepe: strawberries and fresh cream.

"I'm glad you like them." His voice was soft, smooth.

"I'm surprised that you ate with your parents," she commented.

Draco shifted in his seat, a slight frown returning to his features. "I had no choice, really. As far as they know, I'm upset that my father didn't treat Rodolphus the way I wanted him to. I don't want them to suspect that I know more." He grimaced. "I assure you, the meal was appropriately uncomfortable."

"What did you find to talk about?" Hermione asked.

"This and that," Draco replied. "Nothing interesting. My mother wants to redo a section of the garden; Lucius reminded me that I promised to assist him for a week; they both wanted to know more about you."

"You're still going to help him?" she asked, surprised.

"I'd agreed to two weeks, but last night I reduced it to one."

Hermione nodded. "Again, you can't react greater than what their acknowledged offense would permit."

"Exactly." His frown deepened, and he appeared lost in thought.

"What will you do now?" she asked, wondering if she could work up the nerve to address the question in her heart.

"I've been thinking," he replied slowly. "My father not only knew about Rodolphus blackmailing me, but he was involved—perhaps it was his idea. It was definitely part of some plan he's working on with my uncle."

"Do you think the plan is ongoing?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.

"I do." Draco poured himself a cup of tea, then recounted the conversation he overhead between his father and uncle.

She sat stunned, staring at the half-eaten honey crepe on the tray. "Why didn't you tell me this last night?"

He shook his head. "I was too … numb last night. I couldn't decide what to concentrate on: my father's involvement in my blackmailing, the fact that my own mother knew what was going on, or the knowledge that there's a plan they're all involved in that I know nothing about!" Again, he shook his head, this time running both hands through his hair. "I couldn't process it all last night, much less form coherent sentences about it."

"You're right," she said, her voice flat. "I'm so sorry."

Draco's expression softened then, and he laid a hand over hers. She stared at their hands, resting on the sofa, still amazed at the reality of their relationship.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for." Then he threaded his fingers with hers. "I've done nothing but think about this all morning, and there's one conclusion that keeps staring me in the face."

"What's that?" she whispered, her heart hammering in her chest. Fear that he might end things gripped her.

"I believe my father _is_ going to step up and lead a new wave of Death Eaters," he rushed out, as though he had only a few seconds in which he could utter the deepest fears of his heart before something terrible happened.

Hermione frowned. "Are you certain?"

"Nearly," he replied, releasing her hand and standing to pace behind the sofa. "It's the only thing that makes sense. My father is working with my uncles, that much is clear. He supported their evasion of the Ministry, helped to hide them. Rabastan has been sending letters out to anyone he thinks might be interested in swelling the ranks, and I've heard Rabastan ask my father straight out if he would take the lead."

"If they're working together," Hermione questioned, "why would he ask him in front of an audience? Shouldn't he know the answer?"

Draco paced in silence for a few moments, then nodded. "Of course Rabastan knew the answer, but he had to get the conversation started somehow. Especially if he wanted to recruit the Goyles or Theo. He planted the seed, and I know Joel, for one, is interested. I fear Theo is as well."

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked.

"I want to find out what they're up to," he said with conviction. "If they're trying to start another war … I-I want to turn them in."

She smiled, well aware of the irony of his response. "Are you certain?"

He stopped pacing and rested his hands on the sofa back, eyes shining as he looked at her. "I'm rarely certain, but of this, I am. Your argument of weeks ago has really hit home; if I had turned in my uncles when I had the chance, I wouldn't even be in this mess."

"You're doing the right thing," she said with a reassuring smile. "We can do this."

"We?" he repeated.

"I happen to think we make a good team." She laced her fingers through his and pulled, indicating she wanted him to rejoin her on the sofa. "We found Rodolphus. I'm confident we can solve this mystery as well."

Draco smiled then, warm and bright and welcoming. Their fingers still entwined, he gently coaxed her toward him, wrapping his free arm around her waist. Then he kissed her.

When she knew they were on the verge of indulging in each other again, she started to pull away. There was still much to discuss and something that weighed heavy on her heart. "Wait."

Draco growled in displeasure but allowed her to break the kiss. "This had better be good."

She returned to her side of the sofa and resumed fidgeting while her heart and blood cooled. "There is … one other thing."

Draco repositioned himself more comfortably. "If you say so."

"I want to be honest with you," she began, feeling as though she was about to ramble but unable to do anything else. "I think honesty is the backbone of a successful relationship, and without it …. Well, there is no relationship, not really."

"You're frightening me," he said warningly. "Get to the point, please."

Hermione met his gaze then, steeling herself against his possible anger. "I … I think we need to discuss the future. Our future."

Draco waited, but she didn't speak right away. "All right, our future. What about it?"

"I considered the possibility that I would need to … end things last night." It was her turn to rush her words, to push them until they nearly fell over each other.

He went pale and his eyes widened. Still, he considered her words before calmly responding. "I see. Why?"

"Last night was supposed to be the beginning of your new life," she began. "You were supposed to confront Rodolphus, he'd go to prison, your father would take over the company, and you would be free to do everything you've wanted to do for seven years."

"Right …." He nodded, frowning.

Hermione sighed, unable to hold in the words she now hoped wouldn't turn him against her. "You were supposed to be freed, to be able to go and be irresponsible, as you said. I didn't want to hold you back."

After a few moments of stretched silence, Draco spoke. "No, I still don't quite understand."

"Being irresponsible means having nothing tying you down, holding you back," she explained, feeling increasingly nervous. "How can you go and do and see and live to the fullest when you've got someone at home, wanting you back and _not_ wanting you to live to the fullest?"

"Hermione."

"Not that I don't want you to live, to do everything you want to do," she rolled on, "but if that living involves you and another woman—other women, I'm afraid I don't want that. I can't be supportive of that, and I won't apologize for it. I agree you need this time in your life, I am just not sure if I can be part of it."

"Hermione," he repeated calmly, the traces of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

"I've been thinking about this a lot, Draco, and I _want_ you to go. I do." Even now, when she had to say it, when it was the right thing, she still wasn't entirely convinced she really wanted it. She did, but she didn't, too. "You need this. Otherwise, in twenty years, you'll rebel against whatever circumstances life has you in, and you'll break someone's heart by tearing off on a quest to discover yourself, and I'd rather you just got that over with now."

"Hermione!" This time, his voice was stern but kind. When she shut her mouth, he continued. "Would you please allow me the courtesy of speaking?"

She nodded.

"I have said this before. I want to go and do and see, to experience the life I've missed."

"You're spot on," she said quietly. "And you deserve it, you do. You should go, travel the world, experience life. But what happens when you're on a beach in Fiji and some … exotic island woman buys you a drink in a bar?"

Draco clenched his jaw. "I would politely decline."

"Would you?" she whispered, annoyed at the frustrated tears threatening to spill over.

His expression turned to horrified disbelief, and his tone was incredulous. "Do you think I would cheat on you?"

"No!" she insisted. "No, I don't, but … what if I wasn't in the picture?"

He frowned, confused. "But you are in the picture." His tone was firm. "To attempt to remove you from it would be unthinkable…. I wouldn't even be in Fiji if not for you."

"Maybe, but things might have turned out differently. Our relationship could have remained a ruse through everything." She took a deep breath. "What if nothing had ever developed between us? What would you have done in that situation?"

Draco's frown deepened, indicating his displeasure at the discussion. "Without you, I would probably accept the drink."

She smiled grimly. "See?"

He huffed in frustration. "No, I don't see. You're in the picture, so no drink."

"But—"

"No, stop," Draco commanded softly, placing one hand over hers. "You have made all of my points for me. You said you want me to experience what I've been missing in my life. I agree. However, I'm not missing you."

Hermione gave him a small smile.

"My life has never been void of … companionship. Therefore, I don't need to experience any more meaningless interactions." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I don't need to shag my way around the world in order to let off steam. I've already done plenty of that."

"I know," she said, ignoring the bite of jealousy caused by his easy confession. "I just think you need to be as unattached as possible when you go on your … mission. Or whatever you want to call it. I think it will be good for you."

Draco sighed and released her hand, moving his arm to the sofa behind her. "I agree. But I don't want to lose you."

"How do we solve this?" How could she truly let him go, and yet still keep him?

"We compromise," he answered, as though it was an obvious solution. "That's what relationship are all about, right?"

Hermione nodded. "So I've heard. What do you propose, then?"

"I will go and do and see," he began, "but I won't break up with you, or let you break up with me."

She crossed her arms, considering his offer. It was exactly what she wanted for herself, but she wanted Draco to be entirely free. "Promise me one thing."

Draco raised an eyebrow and heaved a sigh. "Why am I not surprised? What is it?"

"Promise me that if you're out there, and you decide you _do_ want … companionship, that you'll break up with me first. I won't cause a scene or attempt to talk you out of it."

He blinked. "That's it?"

Doubt washed over her at his lack of reaction. "Yes, that's what I want you to promise me."

Shaking his head, Draco smiled. "I promise that, should I lose my mind and decide I would rather have one night of mediocre ardor than have you, I will let you know first."

"I mean it," she said, fighting a smile.

"As do I," he rebutted.

Hermione finally allowed relief to course through her. She hadn't wanted to end things, especially not the day after they'd slept together for the first time. Not when she was on the verge of falling entirely in love with him.

"Now what?" she asked. "What do we do?"

Draco stood to pace again. "I haven't quite decided yet."

She turned in her spot to rest her arms on the back of the sofa and to face him, though instead of watching him, she looked out the window, letting her gaze become unfocused. "We solved one mystery, only to uncover another."

"This one more difficult than the last," he added, going to the far window and pulling open the curtains. Bright, November rays bathed the room in the slightly cooler light of autumn.

"Let's review what we know," Hermione suggested, standing to retrieve a quill and parchment from the bookshelf beside the fireplace.

"My father conspired with my uncle to have me blackmailed while he was in prison." Draco's tone was bitter, hard. "Rodolphus demanded far more than my father agreed to—a hundred thousand instead of ten." He swallowed hard. "My mother knew."

She finished the short list and re-filled the quill. The smell of the ink made her insides flutter delightfully. "There's more."

Draco resumed pacing, this time making a slow circuit around the room, touching various objects as he went. "My uncle deposited the first three blackmail sums in a bank account in Paris. He now has one-point-five million Galleons stowed somewhere."

Hermione gasped. "So much?"

"I want that money back," Draco grumbled. "I want to find it."

"Do you think that's possible?" she asked.

"It has to be." He picked up the box of cards on which he had written every person who might have had reason to blackmail him. "The money is sitting somewhere." His eyes flashed dangerously, and Hermione was reminded of what an intimidating man Draco could be.

"What else?" she prodded, hoping to change the subject.

He set the box down and continued his course. "My father and uncle have an association, and Rodolphus was supposed to carry out a task for my father while he was in prison."

After finishing the last item, Hermione started a new list. "You also have a hypothesis."

Draco's voice was strong when he spoke. "I have a few, and they might be related. I think Rabastan—and probably Rodolphus with him—is gathering Death Eaters and any would-be sympathizers in an effort to continue the Dark Lord's work. I think they want my father to take up the lead. My uncle might have blackmailed me for more money … in order to fund the efforts."

He was thinking as he spoke now, tossing out ideas. Hermione hurried to get them all on parchment.

"But my father doesn't know that," he continued, now pacing short paths in front of the large window. "If he had, the amount would have been okay, or he would have approved that amount in the beginning …."

He frowned. "Though, as much as I hate to admit it, my father was rather upset about the amount. For my sake."

Hermione smiled to herself. "In his own way, I think he does care about you."

Now he scowled. "He's got a wonderful way of showing it. I don't think he's aware that the blackmail money is going to fund Rabastan's schemes. Rodolphus might be working behind my father's back …."

Draco stopped his efforts to wear holes in the carpet and leaned on the back of the sofa. "I've got to find that money. If I find it, I'll find them, and learn what my uncles are up to."

For a few moments, neither spoke. Then a thought occurred to Draco. "Do you remember me telling you about that box?"

"The one Harry returned to your father upon his release from prison?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed in thought. "Do you think it's somehow involved?"

Gripping the sofa back so hard his knuckled turned white, he grimaced. "I have no idea. It seems unreal that Potter would have anything to do with the blackmail or with my uncles. Part of me feels it's unrelated, but I can't help but wonder if that bloody box probably _is_ part of this."

Hermione shrugged. "We could probably ask Harry about it; he's really our only hope of finding out about the box. Your father refused to answer your questions when you asked him."

"I know." With a frustrated groan, Draco walked around the sofa and sat down heavily. "I don't really want to talk to Harry. Not right now, anyway. If I find out that the box is involved, then I have no qualms with asking him myself."

After a brief glance over the list, her eyes remained fixed on the last thing he'd said: find the money, solve the mystery. "What about the bank?" she said, tapping the end of the quill on the parchment. "The one in Paris?"

"What about it?" He sat up a little straighter.

"Well, Rodolphus deposited his first … earnings … there. Maybe you could try and trace the money from there."

Draco smirked, turning to face her. "Just what are you suggesting, exactly?"

She felt her cheeks burn but kept her voice steady as she replied. "I think it might be necessary for you to grease a few palms in order to get the information you want."

Draco's expression turned slightly predatory, and he prowled toward her with the deliberate movements of a cat. "I think you should be warned that I find you extremely sexy when you're talking about blackmail."

The heat spread beyond the apples of her cheeks, and she stuttered, dropping the quill. "W-well, I didn't say blackmail—"

He picked up the quill, took the parchment from her hand, and set them both on the coffee table. At that moment, he seemed to remember that she was clad only in his robe, and he set to work undoing the band tied around her waist.

"D-Draco!" she breathed, getting lost in the sensation of his touch and the smell of the ink. Each time his fingers trailed over her skin, her nerves fired with abandon, threatening to drown her in a sea of pure feeling. With a resigned sigh, she glanced at the parchment just before his hand found her neck.

"Kiss now," he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and electric. "Plan later." His lips were on hers then, their quest searing in its intensity. If the night before had been a delicious first meeting, then this was a rabid exploration.

She nodded, not needing to be told twice, and gave herself over to his exquisite control.

"One thing," he murmured, slipping the robe off her shoulders. "I need you to know that last night … wasn't about my parents. Or the blackmailing. Or any of it."

"Mm-hmm," she moaned, almost incoherent, anxious for him to resume the irresistable contact he'd instigated moments before. Why was he talking when his tongue could be doing something far more interesting?

He stopped entirely then, tilting her chin so she was looking him in the eye. "I'm serious; this is important. I've wanted last night for a very, very long time."

"I believe you," she said, lifting herself off the sofa to press her body against his and attacking his lips—those perfect lips!—with a single-minded determination.

"Promise?" he growled playfully, twisting his face away, not allowing success in her venture.

"Without a doubt I believe that you wanted me last night, Draco." Hermione smiled lazily, amazed that she was able to construct an articulate sentence, one that contained all the required elements for acceptable communication.

Draco flicked his wrist, locking his door, sealing the Floo, and dimming the lights in one smooth motion. "Oh, I wanted you last night." He kissed her fervently. "I want you now."

Desperate to end all the talking, Hermione pulled him all the way onto the sofa, wrapped one leg around his waist, and ran her hands down his frame. With a mischievous grin, she responded. "So take me."

**ooo**

**Monday**

Draco checked the clock over the mantle for what felt like the hundredth time since he arrived in the Traveling Room. He stood rigidly, his cloak hung over his arm, waiting for his father. Today they would begin the week-long period of reacquainting Lucius to the family business.

And Lucius was late.

When the time showed five after eight, Draco scowled and decided not to wait for his father. Just as he had done every morning for the past seven years, he donned his cloak, measured out a handful of Floo powder, and stepped into the fireplace.

"Going somewhere?" Lucius thick drawl preceded him into the room. He turned the corner, his long, black robes swirling around his feet.

"You're late," Draco snapped.

"I make my own hours," said Lucius, grabbing his cloak and joining his son in the fireplace. "Shall we?"

Draco started to toss the powder, but paused. "Next week, you can make your own hours, Father. This week, the company will still run under my direction."

Lucius chuckled. "Do you honestly think your subordinates will listen to you over me?"

The space where they stood soon felt entirely too cramped for two people. Draco stepped out and faced his father. "I do think that," he replied calmly, looking his father in the eye. "I have spent the last seven years as their employer. I've culled those wizards who didn't contribute and hired efficient replacements. There will be many faces you don't recognize, people who respect _me_, not you."

Lucius smirked. "Very well. Now we're even later."

Draco glared briefly at his father and then returned to the fireplace. He tossed the powder down and called for his office.

Caleb was waiting when they arrived, and he opened his mouth to begin his morning report when he spotted Lucius. Confused, he glanced from father to son and back. "Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco smiled reassuringly. "It's okay, Caleb. We've been expecting my father's return. After this week, he'll be in charge again."

Caleb nodded once. "Here is your mail, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco accepted it and went to his desk. "I'd like my appointment book, please, Caleb."

"Sure." With a quick glance at the elder Malfoy, Caleb left the room.

Lucius turned a raised eyebrow on his son. "What happened to Esmerelda?"

Draco scoffed. "The eye candy you had working the front desk?" He sat in the desk and started going through the mail. "She didn't last very long."

"Did you … drink your fill before letting her go?" Lucius lowered himself into the chair across the desk and folded his hands together.

_Bill, bill, bill, letter from an investment firm_ …. He rolled his eyes. "We don't have the kind of relationship where we discuss previous dalliances."

"So you did. Good." Lucius examined the room. "I take it you actually use this room."

"I spend most of my time here." Draco separated the pertinent mail from the rubbish. "Did you not?"

"No," Lucius remarked. "I used the office only when necessary. I delegated many of the upper-level assignments to those I trusted."

Draco nodded. "Unfortunately, I didn't trust anyone when I arrived here, and if you trusted them, I'm certain I wouldn't have."

"Why the bloke?" Lucius asked, his eyes drifting lazily toward the door.

The sharp clip-clap of shoes on a tile floor interrupted the conversation, and Caleb soon reappeared with a thick, leather journal in hand. "Here you are, Mr. Malfoy," he said, setting it on the desk before Draco.

"Thank you. Please see to it that we aren't disturbed," he commanded, opening the book to where a thin strip of red ribbon marked the week.

"Of course, Sir." Caleb nodded briefly and left, closing the door behind him.

Draco scanned the appointments for the week, grateful that they wouldn't be dealing with any Muggles until Wednesday. "I wanted someone I could trust in the position of my personal assistant."

"How many witches did you go through before you made that decision?" Lucius asked, his expression smug.

"Why are you doing this?" Draco crossed his arms and leaned back, determined not to let his father get under his skin.

Lucius bridged his fingers and sat thoughtfully. "Forgive me. I know so little of your life."

"Don't give me that," Draco quipped. "If you want to know about me, don't ask me how many women I've slept with. I enjoy Muggle music, preparing my own meals—though I'm not very good at it yet—and when I've had a very successful day, I relax before a fire with a bottle of wine from the Côte du Rhone."

Then he leaned forward, meeting his father's piercing gaze. "Can we please stick to the matters at hand?"

Lucius inclined his head, then seemed to consider his words carefully. "I do sincerely wish to know you better," he said quietly.

Draco refused to let his father's words shake him—at the very least, he didn't want his father to see him affected. "Now is not the time or place, Father. You only have a week to relearn the working of a very large, very successful, international enterprise. The first thing I do every day is go through the mail and read the paper. It's important to know what's going on in the wizarding and Muggle worlds. Then …."

**ooo**

**Tuesday**

"The conference room?" Lucius repeated, incredulous.

"Yes, Father. It's a wonderful multi-purpose room where I conduct meetings." Draco gritted his teeth as he gathered his notes. "It happens to be extremely convenient to the office. Shall I assume you didn't use the conference room?"

Lucius stood. "I preferred to conduct meetings in more comfortable settings."

"Such as?" Draco mentally went through the items on the agenda for the week's financial meeting.

"The Manor, various eating establishments," Lucius replied. "However, after glancing at your schedule for the week, I believe it's safe to say that you conduct far more meetings than I ever did."

Draco frowned. "How did you keep up with what was going on in the company?"

"Reports. Lots of them. I delegated meetings to underlings, and they wrote up reports about what went on."

"What if you were needed for a decision?" Draco asked. He checked the clock and saw that they still had five minutes before the meeting was set to begin.

Lucius shrugged. "Then I would call in my delegate and get any additional information needed."

"I see." Draco had tried the same thing near the beginning of his tenure, but found that it ended up wasting more time than it might have saved. He had to read reports, and more often than not, his input, signature, or decision was required before something could move forward, thus meaning he had to call in key people at the meeting and basically go through it all again. It was less work just to attend the meeting in the first place.

His father picked up the hefty schedule book and found the ten o'clock time slot for that day. "Financial meeting," he read. "What is that, exactly?"

"I meet each week with the people in charge of finances for all the departments of the company," he replied. "We go through any major setbacks, discuss strategies for increasing productivity."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "It sounds tedious and boring."

Draco nodded. "It can be, yes. However, such things are necessary when trying to save every spare Knut in order to meet the extraordinary demands of someone attempting to drive me into financial ruin. Time to go." Without waiting for a response, he picked up the folder that contained summaries from each department and exited the office, walking briskly to the conference room a few doors down.

Caleb met him on his way in and together they sat at the head of the table, Caleb to Draco's right. He pulled out a slip of parchment and prepared to take notes.

Lucius sauntered in moments later and took the seat to Draco's left. When those gathered saw him, they started whispering amongst themselves.

Draco waited until the second hand touched the twelve and the clock chimed ten before beginning the meeting. "First, we'll open for any miscellany you wish to discuss."

The head of the Communications Department, one of the largest and most profitable, spoke first. "Mr. Malfoy." He indicated first Draco, then Lucius. "We know that your father will be returning to head the company, effective next week, and we would like to know what, if any, changes will be made to the infrastructure of Malfoy Inc."

Draco took a deep breath. "That's an excellent question, and frankly, one we're not prepared to answer." He looked at his father. "My father and I have different management styles. How that corresponds to the running of this company remains to be seen."

Lucius spoke up then. "I have been analyzing the changes my son has made, and will adopt those I see as beneficial to the way I am used to running things. Those I deem unnecessary will be cut."

"Will you be shifting personnel?" asked another Department Head, directing her question to Lucius.

Draco knew she wanted to know if Lucius planned on firing anyone.

The elder Malfoy raised an eyebrow, amusement evident on his face. "That remains to be seen," he drawled menacingly.

The woman paled slightly, and Draco cleared his throat. "Let's move on to business. Item one on the agenda …."

**ooo**

**Wednesday**

"Do you enjoy doing that?" Draco asked furiously, slamming a stack of parchment on his desk.

"Doing what?" Lucius asked innocently.

"Scaring people! Threatening to fire them! Intimidating them!" he shouted. "That is not the way to get people to respect you!"

Lucius' eyes flashed. "I never had a problem with my employees respecting me."

"People respect for different reasons," Draco argued. "From what I've observed, respect out of fear isn't the best way to run a corporation."

"They need to know who is in charge," Lucius replied.

Draco chuckled. "I have no doubt that if you asked anyone who works for this company who is in charge, they would say me."

Lucius shrugged. "As you said yesterday. We have different management styles."

Draco gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. This had been one of his most trying weeks as head of Malfoy Inc., and it was only noon on Wednesday. Lucius seemed intent on intimidating everyone, making everyone believe his or her job could be deleted at any moment, without a second thought.

No doubt that was how Lucius had always run the business, but under Draco, the employees knew where they stood, and they had eventually come to trust and respect Draco. Many of Lucius' employees had been imprisoned, fired, or they left when Draco took over, and so most of the executive staff had been personally hired by Draco. Now he was afraid for their jobs, just like they were.

He wanted to ensure that his father wouldn't simply go through and cut people indiscriminately, that he would take the time to learn what each person did. Draco didn't have employees just to have them. They worked hard for him, and he had the best person for each job.

The company ran with the utmost efficiency, and that extended to its employees. He had no choice; with every spare Knut going to the blackmailer, he couldn't afford for his employees to be wasting his time and money.

"You're right," Draco agreed. "We're different. I simply don't understand your methods."

"They've always worked for me in the past," Lucius said indifferently. "Why should I change?"

Draco gritted his teeth. "Frequently I have found that there is more than one way to get something done. Instilling fear in those upon whom I rely for my daily existence isn't the most efficient method, in my opinion."

"Perhaps," Lucius allowed. "However, I don't know your way."

Draco threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's simple. Don't treat people like they're the dirt on the bottom of your shoe, like they're only there to serve you and fill your pockets with more gold. They have lives, too; people depend on them. If they feel their jobs are constantly threatened, they won't work as efficiently for you as they did for me."

He took a deep breath and continued, trying not to let his annoyance get the better of him. "Even now, they are probably polishing off their resumes, thinking about which of our competitors they should be applying to. If we lose some of these people, they will take vasts amounts of knowledge and experience with them. Without either me or the departments heads, you'll be forced to either let the business slide or invest the same tremendous amounts of effort into the company as I did."

As Lucius peered at his son, the lines of scorn and derision fell away, leaving only contemplation. "Who told you all of this?" he asked quietly.

Draco was surprised by the sudden transformation. "No one. I learned some of it, and the rest … just made sense."

"What's next for us?" Lucius asked, the mask of indifference back in place.

"A lunch meeting," Draco replied. "And we're late."

They Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron and magicked their robes into Muggle suits, and from there Draco hailed a taxi. This was the time block he'd been most worried about: the first meeting with Muggles.

After providing the address, Draco and Lucius sat in silence for the entire ride. Lucius sat rigidly straight, his eyes focused forward at all times. Not once did he gaze to the left or to the right. Draco wondered if his father was nervous, angry, frustrated …. Perhaps he was merely resigned.

They arrived at the restaurant and, after inquiring of the maître d', were led to a room near the back.

Edward Sullivan, Draco's liaison at the largest telecommunications company in England, stood to greet them. "Welcome! You're just in time. Please, be seated."

The Malfoys took the two remaining seats, and someone passed them each a report.

"Draco," said Edward after a moment, "we received your letter about the change in command."

"Good. Then you know my father will be resuming control starting next week."

Edward nodded. "Perhaps you could stay a few minutes after this meeting so we can get better acquainted?"

Draco agreed, noticing his father shift in his seat.

The alternating monthly meeting went as they usually did: Edward and his partners discussed trends in Muggle communication, and Draco decided which areas he wanted to focus Malfoy resources on. At first, he'd been shocked at the rapid changes that occurred even two months apart, but by now he was used to with them.

Lucius was silent for the entire meeting, and Draco noticed his stiff demeanor, the hard set of his jaw, his wary expression, and his mistrustful eyes. Though he'd doubted his father would become comfortable with Muggles after one meeting, he was still surprised to see that the man couldn't even relax for a moment around them.

Finally, Edward excused everyone and neared Lucius, his hand out-stretched.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said with a friendly smile.

Lucius glared at the proffered hand for a long moment before shakily extending his own.

"Should I take from your presence that we'll be working together in the future?" Edward had been the liaison to Malfoy Inc. for many years, beyond Draco's stint as chief officer.

"That has yet to be determined," Lucius replied stiffly, clasping the hand he'd used to shake Edward's in such a way that it didn't touch his clothing. Draco only noticed because he knew what to look for.

"Well, your boy has done an excellent job in your stead," Edward said warmly, clapping Draco on the back.

Lucius winced at the contact. "I'm pleased to hear it."

"I look forward to continuing our relationship with Malfoy Incorporated." Edward bade them both a good day and left.

"See?" mumbled Draco as his father retrieved his wand and performed a cleansing spell on his hand. "That wasn't so bad."

**ooo**

**Thursday**

"With whom did you say we're meeting with next?" Lucius asked.

"The owners of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," Draco replied as he settled into the head conference chair. "They'll be here at three; this day is going quickly."

"Do you mean to tell me that you've invested in their little … joke shop?" The disdain in Lucius' voice was thick.

Draco smirked. "Everything George Weasley touches turns to gold. If I didn't do it, someone else would have. They would be reaping the benefits and not us."

Outside the room, they saw Caleb approach the door, then flip through the things in his hands and return to his desk in exasperation.

"He's going," said Lucius quietly.

Draco frowned; he'd expected that his father wouldn't want a man in such a prominent position. Caleb was the first person people saw when they visited Malfoy Inc., and first impressions were extremely important. Though Draco had always had good success with Caleb, he wasn't the type that people expected to see: blonde, buxom, and bustling with energy.

To Draco, he was indispensable, and he had every intention of ensuring Caleb's employment. Even if he had to hire him personally, he would keep him around. Next to Greg, he was the person Draco trusted most in the company.

Caleb returned, leading not only George and Ron Weasley, but a misty-eyed Luna Lovegood as well.

George, Ron, and Luna sat opposite Draco, his father, and Caleb. George was beaming, as usual.

"Draco, mate, good to see you!" George shook his hand boisterously before acknowledging his father.

"Good to see you as well," Draco replied, surprised at how much he meant it.

"Mr. Malfoy." George's smile faltered only slightly. "I believe you know my companions. Little Ronnie, and Luna Lovegood."

Luna gazed around the office, her expression serene.

Ron made no effort to hide his displeasure. "You should know me well enough, seeing as how we spent an afternoon in your drawing room. And Luna had the pleasure of enjoying your hospitality in your dungeons for a number of months." Then he smiled disingenuously and sat down.

Lucius looked more uncomfortable than he had at the meeting with the Muggles but said nothing, nodding stiffly to George.

Luna still seemed unperturbed as she took the seat beside Ron. When Draco sat, the others did too, not quite sure what to say or how to proceed.

Seeing Hermione's friends made Draco's heart ache. He hadn't seen her since Sunday, when they'd stayed sequestered in his rooms for most of the day. He'd only left for dinner with his parents, as he hadn't wanted to alert them to the fact that Hermione was there by not attending.

Every day had been spent with his father, going over the minutia of the business. The evenings had been devoted to pouring over records, catching his father up on the financial aspects of the work, and acquainting him with all of the people Draco interacted with on a regular basis. It was trying, exhausting work. Draco was anxious for the weekend, which would signal the beginning of his efforts to solve the mystery he'd uncovered the week before.

"How are things in Paris?" he asked finally, hoping to keep the conversation on the topic at hand.

"Better than predicted," said George, handing Draco a brief report. "Though I'm making more trips to the City of Lights than anticipated."

"Oh?" Draco skimmed the report, nodding with satisfaction at how well the business was doing.

"Fleur … my sister-in-law … doesn't have the best business sense," he admitted. "Her little sister helps where she can and has a much better head for it, but it's not quite enough, I'm afraid."

"What about your brother?" Draco asked conversationally.

"Bill?" George asked. "He's busy working for the bank. Actually, he says he's enjoying the job in Paris more than he did in Egypt. Something about the curses being more … inventive." He shrugged.

Draco turned to Luna then. "What brings you to this meeting?"

She slowly turned her gaze to him and smiled. "I'm doing a story on Ron and George."

He was about to speak when Caleb beat him to it. "For the _Quibbler_, right?"

"That's correct." She nodded regally.

Draco was mildly surprised at his assistant's uncharacteristic behavior. Usually, Caleb was silent throughout meetings, speaking only to Draco and in hushed tones.

"There was a good article in there last month about alternative uses for wormswort," Caleb said.

"My father wrote that one." Luna beamed.

Caleb nodded. "It was well-researched."

"Fascinating," Lucius drawled, speaking for the first time. "What business do we have left to discuss?"

Ron's cheeks pinked, and Draco thought he might say something else. A stern look from George silenced him, though.

Draco flipped through the report again. In truth, there wasn't much to discuss with the Weasleys; the meeting was a formality, and Draco had looked forward to a light hour that afternoon. "What do you plan to do about Fleur?" he asked.

"I'll be going to Paris starting Monday to help," supplied Ron. "I will spend a few weeks working with her, and I'm sure she'll catch on. If not, we'll hire someone."

"It's a last resort," said George. "We want to keep the business in the family as much as possible."

Draco was about to speak when his father beat him to it. "Despite how prolific your family is, I doubt you'll be able to contain the business as you desire."

Everyone looked at Lucius; Ron's expression was slightly hostile.

"Oh?" George's tone was amused. "Why's that?"

"Simple," replied Lucius. "Your move onto the continent was a test, but it's already proven highly successful. No doubt you would like to see your business grow beyond Paris. With two locations in England, it's a matter of logistics; you simply don't have enough family members."

George nodded. "That's true. I will have to hire outside the family eventually. I'd rather not though, at this point, and I know Fleur _can_ do the work. It's simply a matter of figuring out where she's getting stuck and helping her work through it."

"Do you think you'll accomplish it in a timely manner?" Lucius asked.

"I believe it's reasonable to expect a speedy solution." George clapped Ron on the back.

"Good." Lucius sounded bored. "Are we finished?"

Draco gritted his teeth, unable to think of anything to prolong the meeting. "I believe so. Did you have anything?" he asked George and Ron collectively.

They declined, and less than five minutes later, the conference room was empty, and Draco had said goodbye to his only links to the world outside of Malfoy Inc.

**ooo**

**Friday**

At a quarter past six, Draco smiled and poured himself a glass of brandy. The week was officially over; the last meeting had just concluded. When Lucius joined him in the office, Draco offered him a drink.

"Scotch, rocks," he intoned.

Draco filled the request and sat in his chair. "Well? What do you think?"

Lucius sipped from his tumbler, then folded his hands in his lap. "You have managed the company with exceptional skill and efficiency."

Surprised at the out-of-the-blue praise, Draco blinked, unsure how to take his father's words. "Thank you."

"I will be hard-pressed to follow your example," Lucius continued.

"I'm sure, with time, you'll adapt my system to work for you. Or you'll chuck it all and do something else entirely."

Now Lucius frowned. "Do you anticipate that happening?"

Draco sighed, the cumulative frustration he'd experienced over the course of the week weighing heavily on his mood. "Naturally. You questioned nearly everything I did, found fault with half of my methods, gave me a hard time with certain employees and business associates —"

Lucius held up his hand to get Draco to stop. "I realize I've been difficult—"

"Difficult?" Draco repeated, incredulous. "Difficult doesn't even begin to describe this week. Infuriating and maddening come close."

After a few quiet moments, with only the sound of a crackling fire to be heard, Lucius let out his breath. "All I can ask is that you forgive me. I don't know any other way to be."

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Do you only know how to be demeaning, demoralizing, and condescending to everyone you come in contact with?"

He shifted in his seat. "For years … I ran the company the way I knew how, the way my father taught me. You've done a remarkable job, even more outstanding considering you had no instruction whatsoever. I cannot thank you for the work you've done." He paused then, swallowing hard and turning his gaze from his son. "With the added strain put on you by the blackmailer, it's incredible that Malfoy Inc. still exists. Thank you."

Draco stiffened at the mention of his uncle, unwilling to completely let go of the betrayal and hurt he felt. "I did what I had to do," he responded quietly.

"I am truly proud of you, son."

Draco could feel his father's gaze turned back on him, and he met it with his own. His heart flared and his lungs seemed to swell at his father's words. He had never heard them uttered aloud, no matter how hard he had tried to earn them. Conflicting emotions warred within him, a long-desired sense of accomplishment at hearing his father's admission threatened to overshadow the other, darker emotions associated with the man.

But no, he couldn't simply forget what his father had done—or, in this case, allowed to be done to him. And he wouldn't rest until he knew exactly _why_ he had been thusly treated.

"I have … one final request of you." Lucius spoke slowly, carefully.

Of course. "Should have known you wanted something," Draco muttered, scowling and finishing his glass, not caring if he sounded like a sulky sixteen year old.

Lucius leaned forward slightly. "I do not ask this lightly, Draco. However, I simply must. I cannot make the same transition you did; some things are too deeply ingrained in me."

"What are you getting at?" Draco asked warily.

"I would like you to stay on," said Lucius, pausing briefly, "to deal directly with the Muggles."

Anger flared in Draco's blood. "Excuse me?"

As calmly as if they'd been discussing the weather, Lucius said, "It pains me that I cannot fully and adequately explain to you why I can't do this. All I ask is that you trust me, that you do this thing for me."

Draco's first reaction was to laugh in his father's face. After seven years of hard, exhausting work, he had every intention of going months, if not years, without expending a single thought on the family business. Lucius had agreed to seven years just before he was sentenced to prison, and now he had the nerve to ask Draco for _more_?

That thought made him angry, adding to the betrayal and hurt. "I know you aren't serious," he bit out.

"I'm afraid so." Lucius' voice was barely above a whisper, and it almost sounded pained when he spoke again. "I do not wish to ask this of you. I had hoped that I could step directly into this position and give you the time off you so deserve."

"Then why don't you?" Draco snapped, his voice rising.

"It isn't that simple. I can't tell you—"

"I'm just supposed to trust you, is that it?" He was shouting now, vaguely aware that he had to be careful of what he said. "After what you did—rather, _didn't_ do—with Rodolphus, I'm to trust that you have my best interests in mind?"

"I do," Lucius insisted quietly.

"Then how dare you ask me to stay on!"

"I wouldn't unless it was absolutely necessary." Draco could tell his father was starting to lose his patience; his fuse had always been rather short.

"Then don't," Draco supplied. "Simple as that."

Lucius pressed his long, thin hands to his temples. "I'm afraid that's simply impossible. I need this from you." He looked at Draco then, all pretense gone, his expression pleading. "Don't make me beg."

Draco scowled, then mentally berated himself for even considering the request. He was about to refuse when Lucius spoke again.

"Please. Please, Draco."

He growled low in his throat, completely frustrated. The thought of continuing was … impossible. He needed time off, time away from balance sheets and constant demands and coffee and uppers and statistics and reports and ….

"I ca—"

"Draco. Please."

Lucius never said please, he never asked nicely. When Draco reluctantly looked at his father, he saw a collection of emotions on his face. Most surprising was the look of desperation and fear in his father's eyes. It was the fear that finally tipped Draco's resolve.

"This is the best I can offer," Draco replied. He refused to commit himself to something he didn't know that he could fulfill. "I will appoint and train someone I trust to the position of dealing with our Muggle contacts, someone who will ultimately answer to me. I can't promise that I'll ever return … but I will take that responsibility from you."

Lucius let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. "Thank you. It's highly critical."

"You know, they aren't that bad," Draco snapped. "They're just like you and me but without the magic. There are quite a few richer than you, even. If there's one thing you can understand, it's money."

"I will offer you this in return for your assistance: I promise I will … try. In the future." He swallowed. "With the Muggles."

This time, Draco did roll his eyes. "How very magnanimous of you, Father."

At that, Lucius cracked the barest hint of a smile. "Thank you, again. Now." He stood, straightening his robes in one fluid movement. "I believe your mother is waiting for us to join her for dinner."

Draco raked his eyes over the desk, internally groaning. There were expense reports to fill out, numerous documents to sign, provisions to make for Caleb, and now he had to promote Greg to Muggle liaison and adequately train him for the position.

Lucius chuckled. "Work will always be here, son. Your mother's good humor, however, is a fleeting thing."

"All right," he mumbled, grabbing a few things to work on later that night. "Let's go."

**ooo**

**End Notes: **Thanks so much for reading!! And I'd also like to take the time to thank everyone who has been reviewing. I know I've not been replying like I once did, but I do have a good reason for not being on the computer as much.

About 1.5 months ago, I found that that I'm pregnant! The hubbs and I are very excited, but it has severely limited my computer time. This also explains the last posting of this chapter. I really hope it won't happen again, but this weekend just hasn't been my best.

Anyway, I hope to resume responding to reviews very soon! Thanks to my betas drcjsnider and pokeystar, and to inadaze22 for the awesome playlist! Art for this chapter is by maaiker of LJ.


	25. The Misadventures of Draco Malfoy

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Note**: I attempted to use the French language in this chapter, which I wrote when I was living in France. I must have been pretty confident that I used French right, but now I'm not so sure. If you speak French, I beg you to correct my usage! Thank you in advance!

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 25 - - The Misadventures of Draco Malfoy**

**- - -**

Draco reviewed the packing list he'd made, comparing the items he'd checked off with what was in his suitcase. Without knowing how long he would be gone, or where he'd be going, it was difficult to predict what he'd need. Granted, he could easily return to the Manor to retrieve anything he'd forgotten, but he also wanted to be able to go in an instant.

He had plenty of clothes for a variety of climates, as well as other supplies. What he was debating about was which pieces of his and Hermione's investigation to bring along.

With a sigh, Draco sat on the bed beside the suitcase. It was Sunday afternoon, and it felt like midnight. Friday night and all day Saturday had been spent with his father, going over any and every detail about the company either of them could think of.

Neither of them mentioned Lucius' request, but Draco had thought about it increasingly as the weekend wore on. Though he hadn't expected his father to embrace his responsibilities with Muggles, he had hoped he would at least try. On top of that, the fact that he'd begged Draco to stay on … the more he thought about it, the angrier Draco got.

During Lucius' imprisonment, he had tried not to be angry with his father. Not only would it have done no good, but it wasn't his father's plan to drop him in the middle of the company with no training or instruction whatsoever. However, Draco wasn't perfect, and during especially trying times, he allowed himself moments of resentment.

Through it all, he'd tried to remember that his father cared for him. He had always trusted that his father was doing what was best for his family. From the start of the war, Lucius had wanted his family to be prominent in the Dark Lord's inner circle to insure the continuation of their elite status. Then, when things didn't go according to plan, he wanted his family name restored. Finally, he wanted his family alive, above all else. His instructions before his arrest were simple: take care of his mother and the family as best he could.

To learn that Lucius himself had not followed his own instructions and allowed his son to be blackmailed and suffer the hardships that accompanied it had deeply hurt Draco. That the man had sanctioned a much smaller amount, one that would barely have been felt, was beside the point. Why couldn't he have simply asked Draco to provide for his uncles? Why was all the secrecy and deceit necessary?

Those were just some of the questions Draco hoped to answer.

The fireplace flared, and Draco felt a thrill of excitement; only one person ever came through his closet room.

"Draco?" she called.

"In here," he responded, standing and moving toward the other room.

Hermione met him halfway, and his insides twisted delightedly upon seeing her. It had been far too long since he'd spoken with her, much less let his gaze fall upon her pretty form.

"Hey," she said with a shy smile.

Draco smoothly wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. Though she had something in her hands, she returned the gesture, pressing herself against him. He sighed contentedly as much of the anxiety he'd been feeling melted away. Then he pulled back, tipped her chin, and kissed her.

Merlin, had it really been a week since he'd last tasted her?

She responded with enthusiasm, using her free hand to grip his robes, holding him in place. Not that he had any intention of moving. The way she fit against him, the way she felt in his arms …. He couldn't imagine her _not_ being there, not existing in his world.

When things reached the breaking point, she softened the kiss and allowed space to exist between them.

Draco groaned, not ready to be done, and pulled her back.

"Draco," she breathed heavily.

Growling, he kissed her once more, demanding, punishing, thrilling. Knowing she had something on her mind kept him from letting things progress, and soon he released her as quickly as he'd taken her, holding her upright as she stumbled under the sudden loss of support. Oh, he'd just begun savoring in the delights she offered, and he wouldn't rest until he had catalogued each and every morsel in detail.

Her eyes were wide and beautiful as they flicked back and forth between his.

"Hello," he said, his voice lower than usual. He felt her straighten up then and released her, nodding toward his suitcase. "I think I'm nearly finished."

Hermione took a few deep breaths before speaking, and it pleased him immensely to see the effect he had on her.

Finally, she seemed to have collected herself. "I brought you something."

His gaze went to her outstretched hands, holding a soft, grey, folded garment. With a frown, he accepted the item. "What is it?"

"Harry's cloak," she replied, her voice strangely hollow. "I … convinced him to let me lend it to you."

Draco was immediately suspicious, but didn't want her to know. "Why?"

She shrugged. "In case you find yourself wishing you could be invisible during your research."

Running his hands along the smooth fabric, he said, "Thank you. I'm sure this will come to good use. What did you say when Potter asked you why you wanted this?"

"I told him I couldn't say," she replied nonchalantly. "He didn't ask any more questions."

"Really?" Draco quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes. Harry trusts me." As he packed the cloak in his suitcase, Hermione sat on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. "Where will you be staying?"

"In the flat my parents own on the Champs Èlysèes," he replied. At her questioning look, he smiled. "My mother preferred having somewhere to go 'home' to after her days of endless shopping."

"A sizable flat?" she questioned. He nodded. "So your parents own a flat on the most famous and desirable street in Europe. Surely that would have brought significant relief to the crunch you've felt over these years."

Draco chuckled. "Trust me, it crossed my mind. However, selling the property would have alerted my mother that something was wrong. It was a last resort, if things got really bad."

"And you're going to the bank tomorrow?"

He nodded. "I have a nine o'clock appointment with the bank manager. I will learn what I can, and go from there."

Hermione smiled and ran a hand over the shirts packed on top. "When do you leave?" she asked softly.

"Just under an hour," he replied. "I only have a few more things to pack."

"I'll help," she offered happily, snatching his list off the bed.

When everything was gathered, and they had decided on what Draco should bring from their previous investigation, Hermione shrunk the suitcases and put them in a small, traveling bag.

"Thanks." Draco smiled at her, then set the bag by the door. "I'll be shutting down the Floo while I'm gone. I don't want my parents getting curious."

"That makes sense," she said, crossing her arms and walking to the bed. She stared at it for a few moments, then turned around and leaned against one of the posters. Very quietly, she added, "Remember what I told you."

Draco clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked to where she stood. He kept his eyes locked with hers until he was right in front of her, then he rested his hands on her shoulders. "What did you tell me?"

"A-about what to do if … if—"

He smirked, then leaned down and kissed her temple. She drew in a shaky breath, and he rested his head against hers. "I remember. There's nothing to worry about."

"Draco, I'm serious."

He was surprised at the strength of her voice; he could feel her pulse, and it was racing. He started kissing down her neck, pulling aside the bulky robes she wore at Hogwarts. "I am too, Hermione."

She moaned as he suckled her pulse point, and her resistance faltered.

"Wait," she said, just when he started to unbutton her robes. "We can't do this every time we see each other."

"Why not?" he whispered in her ear with a smirk.

"B-because," she stuttered as he reached her collarbone. "We have work to do."

"I'm leaving for Paris in half an hour," he argued. "Don't you want to give me a proper send-off?"

She swallowed hard, allowing him to remove her outer robes. Underneath, she wore a simple skirt and silk blouse, the buttons of which he made the target of his next attack.

"I … I do, yes," she assured him, grabbing his hands as they moved to the third button. Then she lifted her eyes to meet his. "I just need to be certain you understand."

"Hermione." He sighed, sweeping a lock of hair away from her face. "I understand perfectly. I have no desire to be with anyone but you. Why don't you believe me?"

"I believe you," she insisted.

"If something changes, you'll be the first to know." He lowered his head to kiss her, stopping a hairsbreadth from her lips.

She nodded, closing the miniscule distance between them.

Draco wrapped his arms around her and lifted her onto the bed, then set about working through the rest of the buttons. "I wish you could come with me."

Hermione sighed contentedly. "I'm going to miss you too." At his outraged expression, she laughed. "You'd better hurry. Your Portkey will activate whether you're ready or not."

He chuckled predatorily. "Oh, I'll be ready. And when I'm through with you, you won't be able to move for an hour."

**ooo**

Draco let out a long breath as the door closed heavily behind him. He was relieved to finally be at his destination. The silence filling the room was relaxing, a welcome change from the oppressive silence in the Manor.

The fifth-floor, nineteenth century flat was mostly dark; the foyer and living rooms were lit with moonlight and streetlights streaming through the high windows. If he strained just a little, he could hear laughter from the street below.

He'd just come from the Portkey office—after stopping for dinner, a few groceries, and dessert in St. Germain—and was already exhausted. Draco shrugged off his cloak and hung it in the coat closet, then pulled at his tie, walking further into the flat.

He had spent many nights in the Paris flat, each one focused solely on one thing: meeting his blackmailer's demands. Despite his best efforts, some of the memories flooded back.

And he missed Hermione. With a frustrated groan, Draco sat on the bed. Not even a full month together, and he was completely lost to her. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing, or if it was even totally accurate. What if his feelings were the result of mere circumstance? He had been attracted to her from the first time he saw her, but … what if the way he felt about her was manufactured? What if it was the result of having had no real relationship with a woman since Daphne? What if he'd grabbed onto the first woman who'd shown any interest in him beyond the physical, the first woman he'd allowed that close? Would he have latched on to any woman under the same circumstances? Was Hermione special to him? Or was she just … there? Did he really think he loved her?

Someone dropped a glass outside, spurring laughter and cries of delight. They broke Draco from his spiraling thoughts.

Yes, he did think he loved her. Even though he knew it was far too soon for such deep feelings. He would have to focus on enjoying being with her and not let himself think too much. Thinking about her would get him in trouble. Thinking about her, her smile, her strength, her courage … her skin in the moonlight ….

Draco growled and threw the nearest thing he could grab across the room. Something crashed against the wall, and glass shattered. Draco glanced down to see a picture frame, face down, on the floor. He flicked his wand and the mess flew into the rubbish bin.

He needed to be careful where Hermione was concerned, else he'd wind up with his heart broken. He'd already fallen too quickly, while she was still getting over Charlie.

_NO_.

He didn't want to think about her ex.

A glance at the clock made him groan; quarter to midnight. He needed to sleep in order to be fresh for his morning appointment. Draco stripped off his clothing and climbed into bed, staring at the pillow beside his. Then he rolled over, facing the wall instead. But the pillow was still there, taunting him.

Draco bunched his own pillow, trying to get comfortable. He lay for a few minutes, forcing himself to breathe regularly. Because there was nothing to get worked up about. It wasn't like she spent the night with him on a regular basis. In fact, there had just been the one night. So it wasn't as if he was missing her presence beside him.

He stared at the wall in frustration, then turned and threw the pillow across the room. Smirking, he repositioned himself in the middle of the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. He was alone for the first time … in his life.

The room suddenly took on a different feel. He was alone, not a single soul depending on him, waiting for him. He could miss the meeting the next day and no one would be affected—just him. He could sleep for three days, order takeaway, not leave the flat for a week. The only person who would care was Hermione. She would say he deserved it, and maybe he did.

Could he really, truly let go of everything? Maybe … but he wasn't entirely free until he solved the mystery he had recently uncovered.

And … knew his feelings for Hermione were not just circumstance. Merlin, somehow, she just got to him. She understood him. She cared about him. She filled a hole inside him so completely, he wasn't sure she could be removed without leaving permanent damage.

Draco sighed and got out of bed, padded to the wall where he'd thrown the pillow, and picked it up. He squeezed it, punched it, fluffed it, then sighed. After glancing out the window, he returned to the bed and got in, clasping the pillow to his chest as he tried to fall asleep.

**ooo**

The bank was located in the twelfth arrondissement, near Gare de Lyon, one of the city's many train stations. As he stood before the seemingly abandoned building, Draco looked for the broken cross-hatches he had to push in order to gain admittance to the building.

When he saw what he wanted, he followed the directions and took a deep breath before stepping through the jagged glass door … into a bright, modern bank lobby.

Draco went to the front desk, gave his name, and told the woman he had an appointment with Christophe Peronnet.

She nodded brusquely and led him into a back room. "You may seet," she said in a heavy accent.

"Merci," he replied. She left, and Draco glanced around the room. There were no windows, only a long table and filing cabinets lining one wall. It was the kind of room you take people when you don't want others to hear their screams. Perhaps it was also the kind of room where underhanded exchanges took place. Regardless, he sat in one of the metal chairs and waited.

After a few minutes, the door opened, admitting a short, bald man with a moustache. "Monsieur Malfoy." He approached, hand extended.

"Monsieur Peronnet," Draco replied, standing to shake.

"What can I do for you zis time?" he asked, clasping his hands in front of him. "It must be something important for you to make the trip all the way here."

"I would like to discuss obtaining further information from you," he replied, returning to his seat.

Peronnet nodded. "What kind of information? If I remember correctly, last time I provided you with a list of names, dates, and amounts, yes?"

"Yes." Draco fought the smirk that threatened. "You have an excellent memory."

"Well," said Christophe, opening his hands, palms out, to Draco. "In my business, is good to have good memory."

"Agreed. This time … I would like information on a specific series of deposits." Draco fingered the hem of his robes. "I understand this is a delicate request, and I'm adequately prepared."

Peronnet eyed him for a few moments before slowly pulling out the second metal chair and sitting. "I did a bit of research on you after our last meeting, Monsieur Malfoy. What exactly do you need?"

Twenty minutes and two thousand Galleons later, Draco and Peronnet were pouring over the records from when Rodolphus made his first deposits.

"'ere we go," said Peronnet, removing a few sheets of parchment from his stack. "Your uncle, under ze pseudonym Jean Valjean, was here in September, November, and December of 1997."

Draco removed the notes he and Hermione had taken on the information they'd obtained before. "Yes, I knew that."

"'e made three deposits of one hundred sousand Galleons each. We took a percentage of each deposit, of course." Peronnet raised an eyebrow.

"Exactly?" Draco asked, motioning for the pages. He scanned it until he found Valjean's name. Beneath the name was listed the three dates and the three deposits. He returned the documents to Peronnet. "Now how do we find out where the money went?"

"Zhat part could be tricky," the man said. "Ve can find when ze money went out, but not necessarily where."

"Whatever information you can find."

Peronnet nodded and handed Draco a stack. "Look for account number 47-1288."

Half an hour later, Draco was cursing how wizards were way behind Muggles when it came to technology. With a computer, the exercise would have taken mere minutes. He was ready to give up, or at least take a break, when he found a list of numbers starting with the number 47.

"I might have something," he said, sitting up straighter. "What do these numbers mean? The forty-seven?"

"It's a code for ze type of individual. Forty-seven means someone involved in opening ze account was suspicious of your uncle," Peronnet explained. "It could be something he did, something he said …." He paused, flipping through another stack until he found what he was looking for. "Ah. Voila. Margot, who no longer works here, noted a strange scar on his arm."

Draco took a deep breath. "Did she describe the scar?" He didn't really need the answer.

"No." Peronnet frowned.

"Here it is," said Draco. "The money sat in the account for six months. In that time, three transfers were made to another account at this bank, for twenty thousand Galleons each." The number left a sour taste in his mouth. "Every two months," he added, more to himself.

If he had any hopes that what he would find might contradict what he suspected about his father, they were completely dashed.

_Ten thousand Galleons a month would have been barely missed_, Lucius had said.

"After that, the balance was removed and the account closed," Draco finished with a sigh. "The other account number was 16-9774."

Peronnet went to a filing cabinet with drawers labeled '16'. "Okay. D'accord. We do keep records of zhese sings. Especially on zhe forty-sevens." He removed a folder and returned to the table.

"Why don't you keep all information on the account together?" Draco asked, again marveling at the lack of efficiency of wizarding systems. "You've got pieces here, pieces there …."

"We organize by type of information," Peronnet explained. "Deposits here, account data there, withdrawals somewhere else."

Draco tapped the table with a quill. Getting the wizarding world to trust, use, and understand Muggle technology wasn't likely to happen, but they desperately needed better organizational methods. He shook his head; he couldn't think about that now.

"So what does that say?" he asked.

Peronnet opened the folder. "Zhe money was transferred to zhe account of a Miss Cassiopeia White."

Draco frowned. "Who is Cassiopeia White?"

The manager folded his hands and was silent in thought for a few moments. "Zhis is beyond what you asked, Monsieur Malfoy."

"How much?" he asked, without hesitation.

"What is it you wish to know?" Peronnet asked.

Draco shrugged. "I want to know why this girl received part of the money my uncle deposited in his account here. If she knows him, or can help me find him …."

"She does much business here," Peronnet explained. "We must maintain a certain level of discretion. You understand?"

"I do," said Draco, frustrated. "I have to find this money. I mean no trouble to the girl, I assure you."

Peronnet sighed, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Another sousand."

"Done." Draco removed the required amount, ten hundred-Galleons coins, and laid them on the table.

After pocketing the gold, Peronnet continued. "Mademoiselle White … I am not sure she will be able to 'elp you. She is eleven years old. She has had an account wiss us since she was born."

Draco was at a loss. "I … I don't …. What does my uncle's money have to do with this girl? Who is she?"

Peronnet's lips thinned. "Someone opened an account for her when she was born, and don't ask. Whoever it was paid generously for anonymity."

"You don't know?" Draco asked, surprised.

"No. I wasn't 'ere zhat day."

Rodolphus had deposited the blackmail money in an account, then had sixty thousand Galleons transferred to the account of a little girl. So far, Draco wasn't uncovering a massive plot to resurrect the Death Eaters.

"What happened to the money next?" Draco asked.

"Zhe money is used to fund the girl's education in zhe city," Peronnet replied. "Zhere is a special school in zhe city for young girls. Zhe money goes zhere. A woman who works at zhe school gets zhe money."

"Where is the school? Do you know the name of the woman?" Draco asked, more confused than anything.

"I can give you zhe address …." Peronnet threw up his hands. "If I can have your word zhat you won't reveal my involvement."

"Of course. She'll never know," Draco assured him.

With a great show of resignation, he nodded, then scribbled out an address. "Not a word."

Draco shook his head and tucked the note in his pocket. "Merci, Monsieur."

**ooo**

The old building was four stories and looked slightly richer than the buildings surrounding it. The molding around the doors and windows had more detail, the carvings more intricate. It was a marvelous building, Draco decided as he approached the front door.

He'd done a little research into the school after leaving the bank. L'École de Paris Poise et de l'éducation was a high-class, prestigious, Muggle boarding school for young girls. Rich families applied to have their children attend the school, and the girls lived there year-round. They were taught their basic studies, as well as etiquette, manners, and gentile crafts such as knitting, baking, and weaving.

Inside, marble floors and a giant chandelier greeted him in the foyer. Ahead of him were a staircase and a hallway leading to a large window, through which Draco could see uniformed girls playing in a manicured yard. To his right was an open doorway, leading to a reception room. A matronly woman sat behind a desk, clicking away on a computer keyboard.

She looked up when the front door closed. "Bonjour, Monsieur. Comment puis-je vous aider?"

Draco stepped through the doorway. "Parlez vous Anglais?"

"Un peu," she replied.

"Sophia LeRue?" he asked. "Is she here?"

The woman frowned. "Sophia? Um, oui. Un moment. Elle parle Anglais."

Draco nodded. He'd cast a translation charm before leaving the flat that morning, but didn't want to broadcast the fact. He wanted to use any advantage he could.

While he waited for Sophia, Draco examined the front room. Behind the desk was a bookshelf covered with what looked like school books. A window faced the street, and underneath it was a low table with two books sitting open. One contained pictures of the girls in the school, and the other was a guest book, signed by visitors to the school. Curious, he wondered if Rodolphus had signed it, and started flipping through the pages.

"May I help you?" said a woman.

Draco spun around, letting the page fall closed. Standing in the door was a young, demure woman about his age. Her straight brown hair was pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head.

"Are you Sophia?" he asked.

"I am," she replied, her gaze drifting to the guest book. "Would you follow me?" she asked.

"Okay." He followed her through a side door of the reception room, into a smaller office with a sofa, two chairs, and a fireplace.

"'Ave a seat, s'il vout plaîs." Sophia sat smoothly in one of the chairs.

"Thank you." Draco smiled and took the other chair, so they were facing each other. He didn't speak right away; he could sense that the woman was nervous in his presence and wanted to exploit that, if possible.

"'Ave you been in zhe city long?" she asked, crossing her ankles.

"I just arrived last night, but this is not my first trip to Paris." He glanced around the room, noting the bland paintings on the walls and the generic books on the shelves.

"Why did you want to see me?" Now she fidgeted with her hands, seemingly unsure with what to do with them.

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he began. She flinched slightly at the name, and he frowned. "Does that bother you?"

With a nervous smile, she shook her head. "I 'ave 'eard your name before."

Draco didn't want her frightened; he needed her to talk. So he changed tactics. He smiled, and she shifted in her seat, making him smile even more. "Sophia—may I call you that?"

She nodded brusquely.

"Sophia. I'm looking for someone." When she paled drastically, his smile faltered for an instant. Then he retrieved a picture of his uncle from a pocket. "Have you seen this man?"

Sophia let out her breath, then took the picture to examine it. "I do not sink so, Monsieur."

"Please. Call me Draco." He brushed her hand as he took back the photo.

"Monsieur … Draco." She smiled uneasily. "I am sorry I cannot 'elp you."

She started to stand, but Draco relaxed further in his seat. "Perhaps you still can. Did he ever give you any money?"

Again, she paled. "I-I don't know that man."

"For the care of Cassiopeia White?" he added nonchalantly.

She gasped. "Comment sait-il? Pourquoi me demande-t-il cela? Que veut-il?"

"Pardon?" he asked, knowing he had hit upon something. "Does Miss White attend school here?"

Sophia seemed to struggle a moment before straightening her back and jutting out her chin. "Cassiopeia lives 'ere, oui. She 'as been 'ere her whole life."

Draco's eyes widened. "Really? Since she was a baby?"

"Oui. Sometimes we accept girls who 'ave no parents and raise them 'ere." Her confidence seemed entirely renewed.

"I have seen your tuition rates, Sophia," he said, frowning as though confused. "How can a girl with no parents possibly afford to attend this prestigious school?"

"Our students come to us under a number of circumstances, Monsieur Malfoy," she explained. "If a girl's parents leave her wiss enough funds, and zhe desire for her to attend 'ere, we are more zhan 'appy to accommodate zheir wishes."

"Miss White is one such girl," he concluded, leaning back.

Sophia nodded primly.

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The girl … was interesting, but not what he was looking for. The bulk of the money went elsewhere. "So you never met this man?" He flicked the picture in his hand.

Sophia met his gaze and held it. "No, Monsieur Malfoy. I 'ave never met zhis man."

"All right. Thank you, Sophia." He stood, knowing he needed to be alone in order to think through everything he'd learned. He wasn't sure if he believed Sophia—her behavior throughout their interview was quite strange—but he would get no further information from her. "I appreciate your time."

She smiled sweetly. "It was my pleasure. I am sorry you didn't find what you were looking for."

"Me too. Au Revoir."

Draco bowed slightly and left the room. He headed through the reception room and was about to leave the school, when the front door opened. A woman entered, leading a line of girls.

In French, she told them to head to their rooms before their next class, and thanked them for behaving well on their trip to the Louvre. The girls looked to be about twelve, and they obeyed the school marm without a word. When they had passed, Draco left.

**ooo**

There were a few voices nagging in the back of Draco's mind as he walked toward the nearest metro stop, and he didn't want to think about them. Instead of taking the metro back to the flat, he rode it to Châtelet and walked leisurely across the Seine by way of Ile de la Cité and the Petit Pont.

He then made his way into the Shakespeare and Co. bookstore and up the stairs, to the room where the portal into magical Paris was housed. All he wanted was to relax. Merlin, he needed a firewhisky.

La Balai D'or was the more upscale pub in the Place de Magique. Draco took a deep breath before entering. It wasn't even dinner yet, and he just wanted to bury his head in a box of sand and sleep for a week.

"Bon soir, Monsieur," said the bartender.

"Bon soir," he returned, sitting heavily in a bar stool.

"Que voulez-vous?" said the man.

Draco gazed over the line of bottles on the wall. "Firewhisky, s'il vout plais."

The bartender turned to fill his order, and Draco scowled at the countertop. When he had the beverage, he took a sip from it, enjoying the feel of the burn.

Half an hour and two drinks later, others started trickling into the pub. Draco paid them no attention; he tuned out the constant buzz of French, thankful he couldn't understand a word being spoken since he'd ended the translation charm.

Then someone sat down beside him. "Malfoy!"

Draco looked up, startled, to discover Ron Weasley watching him. "Weasley. What are you doing here?"

"I'm staying with Bill." He shrugged. "To help Fleur. Remember?"

"Oh. Right." He nodded.

"How about you?" Ron signaled the barkeep and ordered a drink.

"Um … business," Draco replied, finishing his drink.

Ron chuckled. "Business, huh? Why didn't you mention it last week?"

"That's none of your—"

Ron turned in his seat and Draco felt the tip of a wand press against his chest. Surprised, he did nothing but gape at the other man.

"If you think you're going to hurt Hermione, you had better think again," Ron sneered.

If Draco hadn't already been so down, so confused, so desperate to think about anything other than the sodding, he would have snapped Ron's wand in half and bloodied his nose. Instead, he just glared. "_You_ had better point that thing elsewhere, Weasley."

"I've been watching you for ten minutes, and in that time, six witches have approached you."

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed the wand away. "And how many of those did I spare an instant of my time? For Merlin's sake, if you really wanted to hex me, you would've already done so." He raised his arm, motioning for another drink.

"So you aren't here on some … scandalous rendezvous?" Ron demanded, still holding onto his wand.

Shaking his head, Draco said, "No. Gods, no, Weasley. I would never do that to her."

"Do you swear on all the gold in all of your vaults that you aren't going to hurt Hermione?" Ron asked, his tone now light.

Draco groaned. "Of course I'm going to hurt her, as much as I hate it. It's a part of the whole relationship title. Plus, I'm not exactly the nicest bloke. But." He turned to look at Ron. "I am not going to cheat on her. Not now, not ever."

Ron stared at him for a few moments, trying to make Draco squirm. However, Draco had sat across the table from Voldemort himself; he could take Ron Weasley.

Eventually, Ron smiled. "Good to hear. You had dinner yet?"

"No," Draco replied.

"Want to come to Bill's?" the red-head asked.

Draco almost spat out his drink. "What?"

"You heard me," Ron said jovially. "Fleur's supposedly cooking, and I've tasted her offerings at Christmas. It's not a good thing. She mentioned having other guests there—don't make me face that by myself."

Draco groaned. Was this really happening? Ron Weasley inviting him over for a family dinner? All that remained was for him to invite Potter and Weasley over for a tea party. On the other hand, he could avoid thinking a while longer, and maybe get a few more ounces of alcohol in him if he was lucky. If he got sloshed, he could put off the mental exercise for the entire day.

"Sure," he agreed with a sigh. "Why not?"

"Excellent!" cried Ron, slapping down a couple of Galleons. "The drinks are on me. Let's go."

**ooo**

Standing outside Bill and Fleur Weasley's flat with Ron, Draco suddenly wanted to bolt.

"Why did I agree to this?" he groaned.

Ron knocked and grinned at Draco. "Because Hermione will jump you when she hears about this?"

Draco's laughed, harder than he could remember doing recently. "That's certainly an added perk."

Bill opened the door then, smiling at his brother. "Hey, Ron." Then he saw Draco and frowned, turning to Ron and then back. "Draco. Ron, I didn't know you'd be bringing anyone."

Draco tensed.

Ron just shrugged. "Fleur said she's having friends over, and I dunno. Didn't see the harm."

Bill admitted them, though he was clearly reluctant. Draco wanted to leave, but the door was already closed.

"You might have asked," Bill muttered. "Fleur's having a friend over … to set up with Charlie."

Ron groaned. "Oh, bollocks! Really?"

Draco quickly added up the pairs: Bill and Fleur, Charlie and French friend … Ron and him. Hmm.

"Yes," Bill gritted out. He glanced at Draco. "I don't know if this is a good idea."

"Why?" asked Ron, brow furrowed.

Bill stuffed his hands in his pockets and opened his mouth to speak. He was interrupted, however, by someone walking into the front room from the back of the flat.

"Bill, Fleur wants to know …." Charlie Weasley trailed off when his eyes landed on Draco. Then they narrowed. "Malfoy."

Absolutely perfect. "Charlie," Draco returned, all of his senses heightened.

Ron was glancing from one brother to the other, and then to Draco. After what felt like an eternity, he burst out laughing, just as someone knocked on the door.

Bill glared at Ron and answered it. "Bon soir, Juliette," he said, bending to kiss Fleur's friends on each cheek.

Juliette entered the room with a blazing smile, and Draco was momentarily stunned by how beautiful she was. Long, straight chocolate brown hair fell halfway down her back, and her light blue eyes were striking against her olive skin.

Bill indicated each man in turn. "Juliette, this is my brother Ron, his friend Draco, and my other brother, Charlie."

Juliette beamed at each one, awkwardly shaking hands with Ron and Charlie. Draco naturally greeted her the way Bill had, in the traditional French greeting, raising the eyebrows of everyone else.

"Fleur!" called Bill.

"Darling! Would you 'elp me, please?" called Fleur from the kitchen. Bill excused himself and left.

Draco could feel the tension in the air, and it almost made him laugh. Etiquette dictated that someone speak to Juliette, and since neither Weasley appeared interested, he felt he needed to step up.

"So, Juliette, how do you know Fleur?" he asked.

She turned her brilliant smile on him. "We went to school togezher."

"At Beauxbatons?" chimed Ron.

"Oui. Fleur and I were in the same year."

"What do you do?" Draco asked.

Juliette began talking about her work, and Ron managed to throw in a few comments to keep the conversation going. For some reason, Charlie seemed uninterested in speaking. When Draco looked his way, he saw that his biggest rival was watching _him_ intently. Frowning to himself, Draco returned his attention to Juliette.

When that topic fizzled, Juliette spoke to Charlie. "Fleur tells me you work wiss dragons. Zhat sounds quite dangerous."

Charlie shrugged. "It is if you're not careful."

"Do you like what you do?" she asked.

"I do," he said, smiling roguishly.

Draco expected him to continue, and when he didn't, Juliette moved on.

"Draco is such an interesting name," she purred. "What do you do?"

"I …." Have no answer, he finished silently. "Work for my father." It was close enough.

"What does he do?" she asked.

"Nothing interesting," Draco answered, glancing to Ron. He was starting to get the feeling that Juliette wasn't entirely sold on Charlie yet, and that Charlie was content with that.

"Dinner is ready," said Bill.

Fleur entered then, carrying a large bowl. "Juliette!" she exclaimed, smiling widely at her friend. She handed the bowl to Bill and greeted Juliette with two kisses. "Comment vas-tu? Avez-vous rencontré tout le monde?"

"Oui, nous avons été mis en place," Juliette responded.

"C'est bon." Fleur smiled again, then motioned for everyone to follow her into the dining room.

The women went first, followed by Bill and Ron. Charlie grabbed Draco's wrist when they were the only two remaining, and Draco snatched it away.

"What?" he snapped.

"Where's Hermione?" Charlie demanded.

"She's … in England, Hogwarts I would imagine." Draco turned to go.

"Wait." Charlie pumped his fists against his sides and groaned. "Is she okay? Why are you here?"

Draco crossed his arms. "She's fine. She's just working and therefore unable to come with me."

"And you?"

"I'm here for personal reasons," Draco replied coolly. "I certainly don't have to answer to you."

Charlie stepped back. "Of course not. I-I was just worried about her."

Draco rolled his eyes and went into the dining room.

The meal was … interesting. Bill was clearly not thrilled about having Draco there; Fleur was oblivious to all the tension. Juliette soon grew tired of trying to force conversation with Charlie and turned all of her attention on Draco. Charlie seemed pleased by this, and even encouraged it. Ron was amused the entire time.

When Draco felt something on his leg and looked up to see Juliette eyeing him with interest, her foot brushing against his. He wanted to scream. Whenever he tried to bring up Hermione, Charlie spoke over him, talking up Draco's better qualities. Assets, to be more specific: money, prestige, and physical appearance. Draco was starting to get annoyed with it by the time Fleur brought out the cheese course.

It was obvious. Juliette wanted him, and Charlie was itching for him to take her. In fact, Charlie would probably settle for Draco mildly flirting with the girl, anything he could use to run to Hermione and tattle.

She tried him again during dessert, running her foot up his leg and licking her lips—supposedly at the delicious apple tart Fleur brought out.

Draco gritted his teeth and tucked into the treat.

"So, Juliette! What do you sink of Charlie?" Fleur asked.

Ron snickered.

"Oh, uh, 'e is very nice." Juliette smiled widely.

"Yeah?" said Fleur, resting her chin in her hand. "'E's very sweet, and 'ave you seen 'is arms?" She reached over and squeezed Charlie's bicep.

Draco set down his fork. "I have an early day tomorrow. Thank you for dinner, Fleur."

"Oh! Must you go so soon?" she pouted.

"Yes." He stood and picked up his plate, not sure what to do with it. He started for the kitchen, but Fleur called him back, so he set it back at his place. "Good night, good seeing you all again. Bill, Fleur. Charlie. Nice meeting you, Juliette. Ron … see you."

Fleur jumped up and followed him to the door, fretting the whole time about him leaving before the conclusion of the meal. "Whenever you are 'ere, Draco, you are welcome."

"Thank you," he said, spying Ron over her shoulder walking toward the door. "Good night."

When the door closed behind him, Draco waited for Ron. The door opened and Draco let out his breath. "Sweet Merlin, I thought that would never end."

"Oui, moi aussi," purred Juliette.

Draco cursed and pushed off from the wall. "I thought you were Ron."

"I too 'ave an early morning," she said, pulling out a mirror and checked her reflection. "Would you like to go somewhere?"

"No," he replied, and started walking … away from her.

"Draco?" she called.

_Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn—_

She grabbed his arm. "Was I wrong? Did I, how do you say, misinterpret?"

"Yes, Juliette, you did," he said sternly. "I'm not interested. I … Charlie Weasley … isn't a bad bloke. You should go back in there and give him another chance." He stepped away. "Good night."

Without waiting for a response, Draco turned on his heel, took three steps, and Disapparated.

**ooo**

**End Notes:** Thank you so much for reading! And thank you for all the well-wishes and congratulations I received! They truly warmed my heart. **HUGS TO YOU ALL!!**

Beta thanks go to pokeystar and drcjsnider. The beautiful art in this chapter was done by scarletlady Deviant Art (mmmels LJ). Music will be a bit delayed this week, but as always, it's compiled by inadaze22. THANK YOU!!


	26. Stranger than Fiction

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Note:** Again, I tried to use French in this chapter. And again, please correct me! I can't say enough thank you's to everyone who corrected me last week. :)

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 26 - - Stranger than Fiction**

**- - -**

Soft, lazy light drifted through the curtains, making its way across the room to lay in streaks on the large bed. Draco was curled with his back to the window, ignoring the obvious signs that day had arrived.

He was awake, much to his consternation. He'd wanted to sleep until at least ten, but it was useless trying to fall back asleep. His mind was whirring, preparing for the long, hard bout of thinking that lay in front of him.

Finally, when he could no longer pretend to be trying to sleep, he rolled onto his back, keeping the covers tight around him. His parents didn't keep a house-elf at the flat, so there'd been no one to start a fire in the early morning hours.

Draco reached for his wand on the nightstand and sent a fire spell into the hearth. In an hour or so, the room would be reasonably warm.

Until then … he was left to his thoughts.

Settling deeper under the blankets, Draco drew the extra pillow to his side. He didn't want to think, to ponder over the previous day's events and speculate about their implications. His gut, his entire being, knew that he was in for some unpleasant truths. And though Draco considered himself a strong individual, there were some things that even he would have difficulty accepting.

To start: the girl. An eleven-year-old girl, living in Paris, receiving money from Draco's crazy, Death Eater uncle. He chuckled. Where was he supposed to start?

Draco shivered as a chill swept through him, and he glanced to see the fire quietly flickering. He let his eyes glaze over and imagined the flames flaring to green, Hermione stepping through. She would crawl into the bed with him; she had an uncanny way of knowing just what he needed. He would discard the pillow and pull her to him, burying his face in the back of her neck. He wanted it all to go away.

A car backfired on the street below, startling Draco and wrenching him from his thoughts. With a groan, he re-focused his gaze. No, he had to think this through; no daydreams. Besides, if he let his imagination keep going, his musings would turn salacious enough to make even Carrie blush.

Okay, that didn't help.

Despite the cold, Draco threw off the blankets and wrapped himself in a robe. He padded to the kitchen and set a kettle on the stove, then used his wand to light a fire under it. The burner was slow, so Draco jumped in the shower.

The whistle on the kettle was blowing when he got out, so Draco shook out his hair and wrapped the towel around his waist. He chose the Mélange Ladurée, a specialty of the Ladurée tea salons, and while it steeped, he got dressed.

The family flat had access to the roof of the building, so Draco took his tea outside, bundling up in a heavy wool cloak. The city was already bustling with activity, the prestigious shops on the street below open to the wealthy of the world.

Leaning against the railing, he sipped slowly, relishing the taste of the hot liquid going down his throat. Below, he saw a woman in a tailored, fur-trimmed coat walking briskly down the Champs Elysees, two small girls in tow. They, too, were wearing coats with fur collars, but instead of black, theirs were pink.

The sight made Draco smile, and he was forced to think again about Cassiopeia White. Her name alone was an enormous clue; Cassiopeia was a constellation, and the Black family had a history of using interstellar names for its children. White … was the opposite of black, in terms of light, at least.

As best Draco knew, Andromeda was busy running a pub in Ireland and had been for five years. She'd met an Irish wizard, fallen in love, married, and moved to Erie. Draco saw them, and Teddy, at Christmas every other year. She certainly had no reasons to hide a child from her family and send her off to school in France.

That left … Bellatrix. The girl had been born when Draco was fourteen, and his aunt was in Azkaban at the time. He had no idea about the terms of her imprisonment; it was possible she was in the same cell as her husband, and that they had conceived. He shuddered at the thought.

Naturally, the girl wouldn't have been left in the prison, which meant she would probably have been given to Bellatrix's next of kin. Narcissa.

Draco's mother had appealed to Lucius to ensure the best possible care for the girl, ending with her in Paris. Since Bellatrix was in prison, his mother had made sure she was taken care of. Only ….

Why did they send her away? Why not simply keep her at Malfoy Manor? Unless his mother didn't want to deal with … wasn't able to properly care for … another infant.

He frowned. There were a few problems with his theory. First, if his parents were already taking care of the girl, then why did Rodolphus need blackmail in order to provide for her? Narcissa could have easily taken care of it herself. Then there was the fact that Lucius had been so upset when he'd confronted Rodolphus. He had been worried about Rodolphus' 'charges' … though, that didn't necessarily mean he was talking about the girl. Still, Draco suspected she was part of it, at least.

He needed to find out if Azkaban kept records about inmates giving birth and see what they did with the children.

Though he doubted it would really matter. Something tied this girl to Rodolphus, and the money used for her care—at the least, since the war had ended—had come from Draco's parents, with their knowledge and consent. Had Rodolphus been blackmailing them ever since he was released? No, the girl was born before Voldemort caused the escape of ten of his 'finest.' He might have blackmailed Lucius from prison, threatening to turn him in unless Lucius took care of the child. Or perhaps Bellatrix had come up with the plan, and Rodolphus had simply carried it on after her death.

With a scowl, Draco finished his tea and sat on one of the outdoor chairs. His theories were too messy. All things being equal, the simplest explanation was best.*

So … what _was_ the simplest explanation?

A cold wind blew, sharp enough to penetrate the cloak, and Draco shivered, pulling it tighter around him. If he turned his head slightly, he could see the Eiffel Tower, rising high above the Paris skyline. He smiled, remembering that is was on the top of the Tower that he'd spontaneously set into motion his relationship with Hermione.

She was brave; she wouldn't hesitate to consider all the possibilities of a situation, no matter how difficult they seemed, no matter how loudly her mind screamed against the idea.

The simplest explanation …. Draco shook his head, trying to force the blaring clanging out of his mind. It just … wouldn't ….

He left the roof and quickly returned to the flat. Grabbing a scarf, hat, and gloves, he moved quickly from one room to another, checking to be sure all the lights and the stove were turned off. Then he donned the winter garb and hurried from the flat, practically running down the stairs.

Once outside, he welcomed the cold blast of air on his face. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Draco lowered his head and started down the famous Parisian street. The lights in the shops were bright and beckoning, drawing the fashionable of the world like moths to a flame. The sounds of the milling crowd, the soft laughter and beautiful French murmur, washed over him, partially drowning out the simplest explanation.

He walked faster, barely paying attention to his surroundings. It was just … the thing was … the simplest explanation … was … absurd. Unthinkable. Laughable, really. Ridiculous, outlandish, ludicrous, preposterous …. It—

Narcissa couldn't have … Draco would have seen or heard something! Why would she—why would _they_—not tell him?

Draco scoffed, glaring at the sidewalk in front of him. They hadn't exactly been beacons of honesty in his life. But still! Would they hide something like this from him? Not tell him that he ….

Something slammed into Draco's side.

"Regardez où vous allez, imbécile!"

He spun around to see an angry Frenchman gesturing wildly as he walked briskly in the opposite direction.

"Excusez-moi," he grumbled half-heartedly. Draco rolled his shoulder and cringed at a sudden, dull throb, surprised at how hard he had collided with the man.

When he looked around, he was surprised to see he'd already walked the length of the Champs-Elysees. Across the large circle, the Tuileries Gardens stretched toward the Musee de Louvre. There was a patisserie close by, perhaps just around the corner. He needed a pastry.

After ten minutes of walking in circles, all his thoughts bent on locating the place he'd been to before, Draco gave up looking for and entered the nearest shop. Tapping his foot, he perused the display case, finally settling on pain chocolat, a croissant with chocolate inside. He paid the seventy centimes and left, annoyed at the nagging voice in his head.

The simplest explanation … had its own problems. It just didn't make sense. There was no answer to the 'why'. Nothing that didn't generate even more questions than the original. He vigorously shook his head. No, there was no 'why'. Sure, they weren't the best parents in the world, but even Draco didn't think they would just send a child away.

He'd walked so determinedly, so hurriedly, that he was back at Tuileries without even realizing about it. After a heavy sigh, Draco settled into a bench to eat his pastry.

When it all came down to it, the simplest explanation was also the most complicated, and he couldn't think about it. He couldn't give his mind free reign to explore, to analyze, to turn over everything in his brain and examine all the angles. He … he needed more time, he needed ….

Draco sighed again and slouched down on the bench. He had plenty of air. Plenty of food. Plenty of time, space, life. He had plenty of room in his mind and no reasons why he couldn't at least accept what was darting through the layers of memory, thought, and time like wayward Cornish pixies.

As Draco stared unfocusedly at the people passing through the garden, he thought again about Hermione. If he couldn't face this head-on, without hesitation, he didn't really deserve her. She needed someone strong and brave in her life, and though Draco considered himself to have acquired a modicum of strength and bravery since the end of the war, he knew there would be times when he needed to be stronger, to be there for her when she couldn't be strong. Doing this—thinking this, accepting this—would prove to himself he could be that person for her.

A line of people came into focus, a woman at the front leading a group of boys and girls behind her. The children walked in single file, not one of them stepping out of line or requiring correction.

It hit him, then, that he had another option besides sitting or walking and thinking. The girl, whoever she was, was a witch at a Muggle school. What was being done for her magical education? Had her caretakers arranged for her needs in that respect?

Draco remained seated until the line of children disappeared. Then he stood, determined to go back to the school for girls and see … her. Satisfied in his resolution, he tucked his hands in his pockets and started walking.

**ooo**

Hermione couldn't wait for her lunch date with Ginny. She finally felt ready to have THE TALK Ginny had been pestering her for, almost from the beginning of her relationship with Draco.

She spent the morning before her first class in the small lab Minerva had lent her to use for her potions research. With great care, she opened the box of ashes that Draco had given her and pulled out the tube labeled with the number one. Though Draco had said he expected the best results from number four, she would go through all of them in order anyway.

There was no hurry to analyze the vials; her own spells were very infrequent, and no one was waiting anxiously for results. This was her own project, done on her own time and with her own funds. When she was able to work in the lab Draco had promised her, she could really focus on finding a cause and hopefully a cure for long-term Cruciatus damage.

She didn't think she'd ever be able to help Neville's parents or others who had suffered their fate, but for those like herself, who hadn't been tortured into insanity, she was extremely hopeful.

Through observation of other victims of the Cruciatus, Hermione knew that the effects worsened with age. No one had yet lived long enough with the curse to reach into their mid-hundreds, but she suspected insanity was the end result. How long it took to get there depended on the frequency and severity of exposure.

Her case was mild; she'd been exposed once, so she had infrequent attacks. However, Bellatrix had been ruthless and the exposure severe, so her attacks were horrific.

When the bell rang, signifying the end of the second class session, Hermione had managed to get a good start on analyzing the first vial. She sighed; at this rate, working only on Tuesday mornings, it would take her weeks, maybe months to get through the vials. Not that she would trade her time with Draco for anything.

She had only to get through one class and she could meet Ginny. The thought relaxed her. Even the thought of Ginny's probing questions couldn't dispel her good mood.

As she waited at the café for her friend, she couldn't keep from smiling. Draco was simply amazing. Though Hermione wasn't one to listen to or seek out gossip, she had heard of Draco's prowess more than once over the years. She didn't relish being on the end of it with dozens of other witches, but she was almost certain she was the first woman in many years to wake up beside him. That, at least, eased the disquiet.

"You wouldn't believe what Harry did last night." Ginny plopped unceremoniously into the seat across from Hermione, and from the tone of her voice, Harry was not at the top of her favorite persons list. "I am always telling him to put his broom away, but does he listen? No. And naturally, James sees him leaving and returning on the thing." Ginny huffed and started fixing her tea.

Hermione watched, amused.

"So what does James do?" Ginny stirred the sugar into her tea with excessive vigor. "He decides he wants to be like his daddy and climbs on. And then—Then! He falls. And bumps his head. And cries. And Harry? Harry?"

She's nearly hysterical now, squeezing the life force out of her tea bag. "Harry laughs."

Hermione gasped. "Was James okay?"

"Oh, he's fine. Harry, on the other hand … I let him have it. I told him, someday, James could get hurt, seriously injured, if he's able to get into things he shouldn't. I swear, sometimes Harry can just be so … so …."

"Thoughtless?" Hermione offered.

"Exactly!" Ginny exclaimed, throwing up her hands. "He'd better get it through his thick head that his son will try whatever he sees his dad doing."

Hermione smiled patiently while Ginny downed half her cup at once.

"How's your week going?" Ginny asked while rooting through her purse.

"Oh, it's fine," she replied. "Draco's in Paris."

Ginny froze, then looked at her friend. "Yeah? Why?"

"Business." Hermione sighed. "Is it ridiculous that I miss him?"

"Of course not!" Ginny assured her. "It's only natural."

They gave their orders to the waiter, and then Hermione continued. "I only see him on weekends—very rarely during the week. I know we've not been together long, but … I find myself wanting more time with him."

Ginny smiled sympathetically. "It's only natural. You're still in the first stages of your relationship, when you can't keep your hands off each other and every date is an excuse to shag."

Hermione's stomach flipped. Ginny was nothing if not persistent.

"Speaking of which," the red-haired witch smiled mischievously. "You've been evading that conversation for weeks now, and I won't stand for it."

Hermione felt a blush creep into her cheeks, but she was thankful she had something to say and wouldn't have to try and change the subject.

Ginny grinned. "Ooh, that's a good sign. So you're still jumping him at every possible chance?"

"Ginny!" Hermione couldn't help but smile, despite her friend's bluntness. "I … we're doing just fine in that department, thank you for asking."

"Details," Ginny pressed. "Lots. Now."

She was ready for this conversation, anxious, almost, to put it behind them, but she still wasn't comfortable talking about it so openly and casually. So she frowned.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It's Draco Malfoy. Even married, I've heard way more details than I should have. He's so … particular. And honestly, you aren't his typical conquest."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. What did she mean, particular? All she could think was, "Details?"

"You know the wizarding world isn't exactly big. Those women of his talk to their friends, then their friends talk to friends, and before you know it, Lavender Brown knows everything." Ginny unfolded her napkin. "And then everyone knows."

"What do they know, exactly?" she asked warily.

"Oh, you know," Ginny replied with a wink. "The witches compare notes, put together a list of favorite positions, quirks, oddities …. Though without exception, he is always attentive to their needs."

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. "I don't want to hear about his past exploits, Ginny." They didn't bother her—she refused to let his past interfere with their relationship. Besides, he had been honest with her about everything. Still, that didn't mean she wanted to hear about it.

"Right, sorry." Ginny smiled sheepishly. "Of course not. Basically, he's amazing in bed, if you believe the rumors." Now she leveled a pointed gaze at Hermione.

He was, he really was. Absolutely brilliant. He knew just how to drive her to the brink, where she thought she'd go mad with desire and ecstasy, but he never failed her. He always satisfied her in the most amazing ways.

Ginny now grinned. "That good, huh?"

"What?" Hermione blinked, puzzled.

"You got a look on your face. Were you thinking about him?" Ginny crossed her arms and leaned on the table. "You were, right? Just now?"

"So?" Hermione asked, avoiding Ginny's annoyingly piercing gaze. "He's my boyfriend."

"Merlin, Hermione, please. Tell me," Ginny cried, exasperated. "Something, anything!"

Hermione huffed. "What do you think, Ginny? Of course he's bloody amazing! I don't know much about the rumors you heard, but the ones _I_ heard don't come close to the truth."

Ginny squealed. "I knew it! Merlin, he had enough opportunity to become wickedly proficient."

Hermione scowled.

"Bugger! I'm so sorry, Hermione. That was so thoughtless of me." Her apologetic expression slowly turned to a smirk. "Still, you get to reap the benefits of all that practice."

"I know, and it's true he's outstanding in bed, but …." That wasn't what made her feel so bloody good.

"But what?" Ginny pressed.

Hermione sighed. "It's more than that." She stopped, suddenly hesitant to put into words the feelings she got when Draco pulled her close just before falling asleep. Granted, it has only been a couple of times, but it still meant something.

She knew Carrie had never stayed a night with Draco, and he'd never brought any of the other witches into _his_ bed. That alone confirmed that Hermione meant more to him than any of his prior conquests. He was just so tender, so caring, so attentive. He made himself too easy to fall for, and if she'd thought before that she liked him, then it was only a matter of time before—

"Ginny!"

Hermione jumped, startled, and Ginny chuckled at her. Then they both looked toward the source of the voice.

Charlie Weasley was walking toward them, smiling, one hand in his pocket, the other raised in a wave.

Hermione took a large drink of water as Ginny grumbled something about her brother's horrible timing.

"Charlie!" she said, forcing a smile when he reached the edge of the warming Charm that separated the outdoor café seating from the street. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey there, Hermione," he said, smiling warmly.

"Hi, Charlie." Though she hadn't expected to see him so soon—and certainly wasn't prepared for it—Hermione was relieved to discover that she felt nothing more than a mild flop in her stomach, due more to nerves than anything else.

He turned back to Ginny. "I'm home for the week, on holiday. I was in Paris yesterday, saw Bill and Fleur. Stopped by to see George and thought I'd walk around here for a while." Charlie glanced around him. "Things have changed a lot since my last visit."

"Paris?" Hermione repeated. "Draco's in Paris."

Charlie blinked. "I … know. I saw him last night."

"Really?" Hermione's heart started pounding, and she flicked her gaze across his features, searching for signs of an altercation.

"Yeah, he was at Bill's for dinner." Charlie eyed a chair at an empty table beside theirs.

"Want to sit?" Ginny asked heavily, clearly annoyed at her brother.

Charlie grinned. "Sounds great."

When he went to fetch the chair, Ginny mouthed 'Sorry'.

Hermione just shrugged; she was highly interested in hearing news about Draco. She had expected a letter from him first thing Tuesday and had been surprisingly disappointed when nothing arrived.

"He was at Bill's?" Ginny asked when Charlie returned and sat.

"Yeah," he replied, snatching a handful of chips from Ginny's plate.

When Charlie said nothing further, Hermione grew frustrated. "Why was he at Bill's?"

Charlie shrugged. "Ron invited him along."

"Ron?" Ginny make no attempt to disguise her surprise.

"I guess they ran into each other at a pub or something," Charlie continued. "They came together, I don't know much more."

Hermione shook her head, happily amused. "Draco … and Ron?"

Charlie chuckled. "We were all surprised. Fleur especially. She'd invited a friend over … wanting to set me up with her. And Ron was supposed to be there."

Hermione didn't feel a single twinge of jealousy, and she smiled. "How did it go? Did you two hit it off?"

Charlie's jaw tightened and he forced a small smile. "Not really. But then, she was far too interested in Malfoy to pay me any attention."

Her heart lurched, constricting painfully for a few long seconds before she reminded herself not to jump to any conclusions. Just because the witch was interested, didn't mean he'd encouraged her. Besides, he'd promised to send her a letter before he did anything.

Hermione reflexively searched the sky for an owl, heading her way.

"That's awful," said Ginny, bored. "You're a marvelous catch."

Again Charlie shrugged, then took a sip from Ginny's water. "Her loss, I reckon."

"Decidedly so," Ginny affirmed. "Now. If you're finished eating my lunch, I'd appreciate it if you left."

"What?" Charlie asked, surprised.

"Hermione and I have a weekly date, and I won't let you interfere. Now shoo!" Ginny waved him away.

Charlie laughed. "All right, all right." He stood and returned the chair to its table. "Oh, Ginny. Dinner on Friday night, in honor of yours truly." He grinned wolfishly at his sister. "Hermione, I know you'd be more than welcome."

She smiled. "Thank you, Charlie. I don't know what my plans are for Friday night."

"If you're free," he said nonchalantly.

Ginny shook her head as they watched Charlie disappear in the crowd. "Could he _be_ more obvious?"

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're joking, right?" When Hermione shook her head, Ginny laughed. "Charlie! He wants you back."

"Oh." She supposed it made sense. After all, weeks before, he had professed his love and desire to be with her. Those feelings wouldn't disappear so quickly, especially with their history. At least he wasn't being difficult about it.

"Enough about that, though," said Ginny. "I want those details, and I mean now! Every, single, little, thing."

Hermione smiled. Ginny was nothing if not persistent.

**ooo**

For the second time in as many days, Draco stood outside the L'École de Paris Poise et de l'éducation. This time, apprehension gnawed at his insides, and he gripped his wand for reassurance, a reminder of the familiar. He quickly ran through his line of questions and was about to open the door.

"Excuse-moi," said a woman behind him.

Draco turned to see a school marm with a trail of girls behind her, waiting to enter the school. He stepped aside and with a deep breath, followed the girls into the foyer. They marched away, and he went straight to the reception area and asked for Sophia.

The older woman who had been there the day before nodded and ushered him into the same side room in which he had spoken with Sophia.

"Un moment, s'il vous plaît," said the woman as she hurriedly left the room.

Draco sat in the same seat he'd occupied previously, tapping his fingers on the arm impatiently. This should be quick and easy; he just had a few questions to ask, and then one thing to demand. If Sophia was smart, she wouldn't get in his way.

Just then, the woman's silhouette filled the door way. "Monsieur Malfoy!"

He stood and bowed slightly. "Bonjour, Sophia."

She tried to smile, but her expression was simply strained. "'ow may I 'elp you?"

"I have a few more questions," he replied, settling back into the seat and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, bridging his fingers in his lap.

"I don't know what more I can tell you," she said.

Draco leveled his gaze at her. "Are you a witch?"

Sophia paled, her hand flying to her heart, rapid French parting her lips faster than Draco could decipher. Then she closed the door quickly. "Monsieur Malfoy!"

He smirked. "I'll take that as a yes."

"I am no witch," she whispered. "Though … I know of that world. _Your_ world."

"A squib then?" he inquired.

Sophia straightened her posture, looking down her nose at him and saying nothing.

"Tell me," he continued. "Is the girl here?"

"Non." Sophia shook her head adamantly.

Draco's heart fell a little in disappointment. "Where is she, then?"

"She is at Beauxbatons," the woman replied faintly. "She just started her magical education."

Draco nodded, thoughtful. "That didn't raise questions?"

"She is not zhe only girl here to attend a special school," Sophia answered.

"I see." Draco paused. "Why are you being so forthcoming today?"

Sophia blinked. "I thought … since you are here, you would know. Don't you?"

Here he was, moments from confirmation—of what, he didn't know—and his heart was racing with anticipation. His silence must have confirmed something for the woman, however. She stood.

"I believe we are finished, Monsieur Malfoy."

"Thank you," he said stiffly, frustrated at not getting his answer.

"'ave a good day." Without waiting for a response, she left the room with a flourish.

Draco chuckled. She knew much more than she was telling, and it was clear she wasn't accustomed to being in a situation where she had to lie. He was curious about why his parents would choose to put Cassieopia's care in the hands of this timid woman—if indeed that's what had happened.

Draco left the school, knowing exactly what he needed to do next. If the girl was at the French school of magic, then he needed to go there as well. However, it was a well-known fact that Beauxbatons was even more secure and hidden than Hogwarts, and he would have no luck trying to find it himself. So he set off to where he knew a former student would be: Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

**ooo**

Fleur was behind the counter when he entered the shop.

"Bonjour, Madame," he said, smiling at the beautiful woman.

"Bonj—Draco!" She returned the smile widely, beckoning him over.

Draco noticed two young, teenage boys huddled around a display near the front.

"What brings you 'ere?" she asked brightly. Before he could answer, she spoke again. "Juliette really liked you."

Draco shrugged. "That's too bad. How did Charlie fare?"

"She liked him well enough, I suppose." Fleur sighed dramatically. "I am only trying to 'elp Charlie. He needs to move over 'ermione."

He blinked, then caught her meaning and frowned. Draco would never deign to know or understand the Weasley clan, but Fleur's statement surprised him. To what extent did the family know about Hermione's relationship with Charlie? Did they discuss it? In detail? The very idea horrified Draco, and he felt a surge of relief that he would never have to be a part of that family.

Fleur laughed. "It is time, no?"

"You … you think he should get over Hermione?" Draco repeated.

"I do. Zhere is no point, is zhere? She chose you." Fleur busied herself with straightening the wares on the counter. "He keeps hope, zhough. Somesing you said, I sink."

Draco remembered the conversation he and Charlie had a few weeks ago, before he and Hermione were a real couple. _Until there's a ring on her finger and mine_, he had said. But that was when he'd thought Hermione still wanted to be with Charlie. Now … well, he would fight for her, if it came to it. For his part, no one else had a chance with Hermione, and they never would again.

Fleur kept talking and straightening. "Besides. Zhe way she looks at you should remove all doubt. Poor Charlie, though. I sink he needed you to come along. He would have continued as sings were for who knows how long! You forced him to sink, to act—even zhough it was too late." She smiled. "Now he can move on, too."

The door opened, and Fleur exchanged greetings with the new arrival. She watched the new customer for a few moments, then left the counter. "Excuse me, Draco."

He nodded and started to browse the shelves. When he came to a display of French baked goods, he frowned. Then he read the sign:

_Baguette wand holders!_

_Looks, feels, and smells like the real thing,_

_But safely and securely stows your wand!_

Draco picked up the baguette, amazed at how life-like it felt. A quick inhale confirmed the sign.

"Incredible, aren't zhey?" said a woman, stopping beside Draco. "I gave one to my niece; she loved it."

Draco smiled absently and replaced the bread. He turned to move down the aisle.

"You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you?" she spoke again.

He looked at her fully, surprised to discover that she looked slightly familiar. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"We've not been introduced." She flashed a dazzling smile—at least, it was meant to dazzle. "But I've heard a lot about you. I'm Isabella. I know your parents."

Draco blinked, and an image surfaced in his memory. Isabella's face, winking and smiling from a photograph given to him by his father. Isabella, the "proper" type of woman to fill the role of Draco's mate. It couldn't be coincidence that she was here.

"Did my father send you?" he asked, annoyed.

Isabella pinked but looked affronted. "Just because I know who you are doesn't mean anything more than that."

Draco glanced around and saw Fleur back at the counter. "Excuse me. It was nice meeting you," he added out of politeness and made his way back to Fleur.

"I never answered your first question," he said immediately, leaning on the counter and speaking quietly.

Fortunately, Fleur got the idea and spoke softly in response. "What was zhat?"

"I need your help with something."

"Anything," she insisted.

"I need to know where Beauxbatons is located."

Fleur's eyes widened. "Beauxbatons? But why?"

"There is someone there I wish to see … to surprise." He smiled. "I know how closely its location is guarded, and I assure you, I would never reveal that I even _know_ where the school is. You have my word."

Fleur shook her head. "Zhis … zhis is not done. You cannot simply knock on zhe door and expect to see … anyone!"

Draco clenched his jaw. "I have to get into that school," he said firmly.

"Who do you wish to see?" she asked, a frown marring her flawless features.

"A student there. A friend's daughter," he lied, easily. "It's a surprise."

"I don't know if you could get in unaccompanied or without an appointment," Fleur cautioned. "I would go with you, but I cannot leave the shop unattended."

"Where's Ron?" Draco asked, remembering that he was supposed to be there, helping his sister-in-law.

"'e is running an errand zhis afternoon," Fleur replied.

The door opened, and again Fleur left Draco to attend her customer.

As soon as she was gone, Isabella slid in beside him. "I couldn't help but overhear," she said silkily. "You need an escort to Beauxbatons? I can help you." She placed her hand on his arm. "I'd be happy to help."

Draco suppressed a groan. "Is that so?"

Isabella moved closer, resting her arm beside his so that they were touching. "A show of good faith," she purred. "An example of what I'm willing to do for you."

Draco gritted his teeth. Lucius had seemingly spoken with this woman about Draco's needs for a good mate. She thought that by helping him now, he would be grateful enough to … what? Marry her? Date her? What she probably didn't know was that he could be quite callous when he needed to be. She probably had no idea that he would use her in order to get what he wanted.

"When can we leave?" he asked with his most charming yet devious smile.

"Right now, if you wish."

Draco found Fleur again, still in conversation. He didn't want to risk her seeing him leave with Isabella, nor did he particularly want to go to Beauxbatons immediately. Not with her, at least. It was almost closing time, and if they went to the school at night …. Well, Draco would just rather rid himself of Isabella's presence during the daytime.

"No," he said. "I have plans this evening. Tomorrow? First thing?"

Isabella smiled. "Absolutely. Shall I meet you here?"

For a moment, Draco entertained the thought of having her meet him at a metro stop, knowing she would have no idea what to do with that. But, he needed her, however briefly.

"The bar across the Place. Eight o'clock." He watched Fleur walk away from her customer, heading back toward him. "Okay?"

"Sure." She gave his arm a little squeeze, stepped away, and waited for Fleur in order to buy something.

Draco's raised an eyebrow at Isabella's purchase. A Patended Daydream Charm? Wasn't she a little old for such things?

As she turned to leave, Isabella winked saucily and shook her bag ever so slightly. Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes and paid her no more attention, turning instead to Fleur.

"You say zhis is very important?" she asked.

"Very," he affirmed.

"Let me sink about what I can do," she said, smiling. "Perhaps I can write a letter to Madame Maxine."

"That would be wonderful." Draco smiled widely. He wouldn't tell Fleur that he'd found another way to the school. If Isabella failed him, Fleur could still assist him.

Fleur beamed. "Happy to help!" The door chimed, indicating another arrival. "Oh, here is Ron," she said to Draco. Then she called, "Ron! Look who is 'ere!"

"Evening, Malfoy," said Ron warmly, joining them at the counter.

"Are you coming for dinner, Ron?" asked Fleur.

"Er, not tonight," he replied quickly. "Thank you, though."

Fleur smiled and left the men alone.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were lonely," said Ron, going behind the counter and stashing the stack of parchment he'd come in with.

Draco grinned. "But you know me better than that."

"Which leads to my question: what are you doing here?" Ron's tone wasn't hostile, but neither was it entirely friendly.

For some reason—probably related in some way to Hermione—Draco didn't want to flat-out lie to Ron. He couldn't tell him the whole truth, of course, but there was nothing to be gained from lying. And if Hermione appreciated his honesty, then all the better.

"I needed a favor. From your sister-in-law."

Ron's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Oh? What kind of favor?"

"I need to get into Beauxbatons—business, before you ask—and I don't know where it is," he replied.

Ron frowned. "I don't suppose you'd want to … elaborate."

"Not especially. Say, Weasley. What _are_ your plans tonight?" Draco asked, struck with sudden panic at the idea of being left alone to his thoughts.

Ron glanced in Fleur's direction, then leaned toward Draco. "Avoiding her cheese course."

Draco chuckled. The night before, Fleur had served a small selection of very strong goat cheeses. "It seems to be something of an acquired taste."

Ron made a face.

"Excellent." Draco clapped his hand on the counter. "Dinner is on me."

After a quick glance in Fleur's direction, Ron turned to Draco. His expression went from blank to skeptical to amused in a matter of seconds. Then he nodded. "Let's go, quick, before she invites you over. See you tomorrow, Fleur!" he called, grabbing his cloak.

"Oh! Goodbye! Draco, I will speak with you soon!" she cried after them.

"Yes, thank you! Bon soiree!"

Once outside, Ron grabbed Draco's arm. "What's this, then?"

Draco grinned. "It's all for Hermione."

Still not convinced, Ron nodded slowly. "Thinking of proposing?" Draco paled, his eyes widening. At this, Ron laughed. "Right. Not just now, then."

"Let's just go," Draco grumbled, walking quickly as Ron's laughter followed.

**ooo**

At promptly eight the next morning, Draco arrived at the bakery four shops down from the Weasley's shop. Isabella was there, dressed in the most stylish, Parisian robes of the season—in mustard yellow. Draco nearly winced; with her bright blonde hair, the look was rather hideous. Neither his mother, nor Hermione for that matter, would never have been caught dead in such garish attire, no matter how 'fashionable.'

When she saw him, he could almost sense her switch into 'impress' mode. A sensual, slightly bored smile slid into place, and she adjusted her body in what was clearly intended to accentuate her feminine curves.

Women openly flirting was nothing new for Draco. Women blatantly propositioning him was also a somewhat common occurrence. Before Hermione, he'd paid such women little attention, sparing them a cursory glance to determine if he was interested. If so, he accepted her card and filed it away, not to be considered until he needed a date for an event. If not, he paid them no further attention and quickly forgot about them. Out of every twenty women he encountered in such a way, perhaps three would warrant further interest.

Had Isabella been merely an unnamed face in the crowd, he wouldn't have approached her.

Now that he had Hermione, the very idea was almost repulsive. Yes, the woman had a fantastic body, but he knew she couldn't hold a candle to Hermione's passion.

He shivered, fantastic memories of their last time together flooding his mind.

As Isabella made her way toward him, Draco took a few deep breaths to cool his blood.

"Morning," she purred.

Draco nodded. "Bonjour." How strange the difference in his thought processes now that he was happily attached. "Ready?"

Isabella reached into her purse and removed a thin, glass rod. "It's a very special Portkey," she explained before he could ask. "Set for three minutes from now."

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Southern France. Where it's warmer," she replied.

That made sense, judging from the uniforms worn by the Beauxbatons students during the Triwizard Tournament.

He forced a smile. "Excellent." Draco knew he couldn't afford to anger the witch, and inattention now was a sure way to upset her. He needed to fight the repulsion he felt, knowing that Isabella just wanted him for his station in life. Once he was inside the school, however, he needed to get rid of her. He didn't want her to be anywhere around while he searched for the girl.

"One of my best friends is teaching Charms at Beauxbatons," Isabella remarked, as if she'd read his mind. "I can't wait to see her again."

Draco had to give his father credit: he had done his very best in finding the 'perfect' witch. Isabella was exactly the type of witch to traditionally fill such a position as a Malfoy wife. She was helping Draco into Beauxbatons, then discreetly leaving him alone, no questions asked.

It only reinforced Draco's determination NOT to accept such a thing in his life. He wanted someone with whom he could share his activities, someone he didn't have to keep secrets from—wouldn't _want_ to keep secrets from—someone he could take with him to meet … the girl. An image flashed in his mind of Hermione, her cheeks pink from the slight nip in the air, hand clasped firmly in his as they walked the halls of the French school.

"That sounds nice," Draco said absently.

A ping sounded, alerting them that the Portkey was about to activate.

"Here we go," said Isabella brightly.

Seconds after grabbing the rod, Draco felt the familiar tug at his navel as they were whisked away.

Moments later, they were deposited in a wide open field. In three directions, before him and to his sides, lay fields of lavender, as far as he could see.

"Follow me."

Draco turned around to see rolling hills in the distance and a large, magnificent castle atop the nearest one.

Isabella approached an Abraxan, one of the flying horses he had seen leading the Beauxbatons carriage in fourth year, and spoke to it. The large Palomino whinnied, and Isabella beckoned him over.

"We'll ride her to the castle," she explained. "Only zhese horses can breach the wards and bear us inside."

Draco sighed, resigned. He helped Isabella onto the horse, then climbed on after her.

"Hold tight," she purred.

Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and gritted his teeth.

Isabella spoke to the horse again, and they started off. They went slowly at first, then faster until they reached the base of the hill. It took the steed only seven minutes to climb to the castle.

When she stopped outside the gate, Isabella instructed him to dismount.

He did, then helped her down. Isabella did her best to stumble into his arms, much to Draco's consternation.

"I'm sorry," she gushed, her eyes belying her words as she ran her hands over his chest.

"What now?" he asked, thoroughly annoyed.

"I'll send a message to my friend." She seemed slightly put off his behavior, but said nothing about it, withdrawing her wand and releasing a Patronus.

As they waited, Draco couldn't help but wonder what Isabella expected him to do. He had a girlfriend! Just because he'd been in the papers many times with many women, didn't mean he would ever cheat. Never!

Isabella shifted beside him, and he turned his attention to the scene before him, marveling at the beauty that was Beauxbatons. The gilded gate shone brilliantly in the morning sun, and the castle looked like something he'd seen on posters in the Paris metro.

The exterior of the castle was almost purple in color, with many tall, thin turrets with gold roofs. Flags of different colors topped each turret, blowing in the wind.

Draco almost expected a fanfare on long, thin silver trumpets to welcome their arrival.

Soon the front door of the castle opened, and a woman with long, black hair walked from it, clad in the traditional garb of Beauxbatons professors. It was similar to the student uniforms, only pale green instead of blue. Draco chuckled, for once grateful for the Hogwarts' uniforms.

When the woman arrived at the gate, Isabella squealed and they hugged through the bars. Then they started speaking rapidly in French, and despite the translation Charm he'd cast, Draco couldn't understand much of what they said. He heard his name a few times, but that was it.

The black-haired woman paused and looked at Draco, and then Isabella addressed him. "Draco, Zhis is my friend, Gillian. Gillian, Draco Malfoy."

"Enchante," said Draco with a smile, inclining his head to the raven-haired woman.

"Likewise," she replied. Gillian's smile was kind and gentle, unlike Isabella's, and Draco immediately liked her. "Please, come in." Gillian tapped the gate with her wand, and it opened enough for them to enter.

Draco watched the horse trot off to return to her post.

"How can we help you?" Gillian asked. Her voice held no ulterior emotions, no calculating quality. She reminded Draco of Hermione.

"I'm unable to discuss my business, I'm afraid," Draco replied.

Gillian smiled. "But how will I know where to direct you once inside zhe castle? It is a large place, very easy to get lost."

"Of course. Perhaps once we're inside." He said no more. He could feel Isabella watching him, but he didn't care. She had served her purpose, and if she'd hoped to learn about his mission, she would certainly be disappointed.

He was now faced with a dilemma. His plan all along had been to find the girl, preferably with as little interaction with others as possible, but he hadn't really considered _how_ he would find her. Hermione had always been the one to think about all the angles and develop plans for each one. He couldn't just wander the halls blindly. At Hogwarts, such a thing was potentially disastrous, if the wrong hallway, door, or step was taken.

"What are my options?" he asked as Gillian closed the enormous front door behind them.

"Whatever you wish to do, you must register your wand and sign in as a visitor," she replied, stopping in the entrance.

Draco didn't like the sound of that; he didn't want his name recorded in any way. There was really only one person in the entire school who could bend the rules if she saw fit. "I'd like to speak with your Headmistress, please."

Gillian blinked, surprised. "I … very well, Monsieur." She exchanged a quick glance with Isabella. "This way."

He followed the women through the labyrinth of halls, paying close attention to where they were going. It was hard not to be distracted by the opulence of the castle, however. Rich carpets, marble floors, paneled walls, and large windows were the norm, with intricately carved moldings around the doors and windows. It was classic Louis XIV splendor, perfectly preserved within the castle.

It reminded him of the Manor in its finery, a blatant display of wealth and privilege. Here, though, light was the order, and dozens of windows and mirrors gave the castle an airy, celestial feeling. Magic was celebrated instead of gold.

Finally, after eleven turns, two sets of grand stairs, and one false portrait, Gillian stopped outside a set of pale blue French doors with thick yet translucent curtains over the glass. "Let me announce you," she said before rapping on the door.

"Entrée!" called Madame Maxine from within, her voice unmistakable.

"Isabella, wait here," Gillian instructed. Then she opened the door and led Draco inside.

Madame Maxine looked up from her desk, and when her eyes landed on Draco, they didn't display so much as an ounce of surprise. Gillian spoke quickly in French, but Madame Maxine waved her quiet.

"I know who zhis is," she said brusquely. "Welcome, Monsieur Malfoy."

Draco bowed his head. "Madame Maxine. Thank you."

"Gillian, you may go. Please remain close by in case I need you."

Gillian nodded and left, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

"So. Draco Malfoy. Here you are." Madame Maxine looked down at him over her long nose, her gaze quizzical.

Though she was a large woman—half-giant, according to Hermione—he wasn't intimidated. He had stood before Voldemort himself and lived to tell the tale. "You aren't shocked to see me on your doorstep," he observed.

"Non. It was always a possibility," she returned. "Granted, not a likely one, but zhat is zhat."

"Then you know why I'm here?" he asked.

"I can only assume." She stopped, placing her hands atop her desk and threading her fingers.

Draco realized that she wasn't going to give anything away, and until she knew what he knew, would say nothing useful.

"I wish to meet one of your students," he admitted. "Cassiopeia White."

"Cassie," Maxine corrected. "Tell me, Monsieur Malfoy. Do your parents know you're here?"

He swallowed thickly. "No, Ma'am." Her eyes narrowed, and he asked, "Is that a problem? Surely you cannot question my desire to be here."

She shrugged. "I will be writing them to inform them of this … development."

Fascinating—his parents were in contact with the Headmistress, and had informed her that it was possible he might show up one day. "Madame, I … I know that Cassie is a relative of mine." A knot the size of a Quaffle had settled in his gut; part of him knew much more than that. "My only desire is to meet her and ask her a few questions. About a man."

Madame Maxine's expression softened. "Of course. It's completely understandable. Cassis is in class right now. However, I will call for her so that you may speak with her."

"Somewhere private," he added quickly. "Please. No one knows my purpose here, and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"Of course," she quipped. "This way." Maxine scribbled out a note and sent it flying through the castle, much like the memos at the Ministry. Then she went to the door, crossing the room in a few long strides.

Draco followed her through the castle, this time too apprehensive to care where he was going. When they passed Gillian and Isabella, Madame Maxine dismissed them. Isabella watched Draco with a hungry interest, but was soon out of sight and barely a memory.

They arrived in a small courtyard, surrounded by walls with no windows. Maxine shut and locked all of the doors, then told Draco to wait where he was. As she crossed the courtyard, she spoke. "I will not listen to your conversation, but will be here, watching, just in case you or she needs anything."

Draco nodded, feeling as though he could be sick at any moment. The seconds seemed to pass like hours as he waited. Then he heard a door open, and Draco realized it was way too soon. He wasn't ready, he could _never_ be ready.

Footsteps echoed off the stone walls, and Draco turned in their direction. A shadow emerged first, on his right, followed by the girl.

She wore the traditional blue uniform, and he couldn't help but stare. The girl walked with perfect poise and grace, but that wasn't what held his attention. Nor was it her primly folded hands, her elegant bearing, her rigid posture. It wasn't her pale skin, or even her hair, pale gold like flax in the autumn sun.

Her eyes, sparkling like blue ice, were the object of his gaze; he'd seen them before many times. Draco blinked and realized Cassie had reached him. Her piercing eyes gazed on him steadily, an exquisite combination of sapphire and grey, and the truth broke through him. The girl was the perfect image of her mother.

Of _his_ mother.

**ooo**

**End Notes**: Thank you so much for reading!! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I know it was a holiday weekend in the US, so I appreciate the time you took to leave me a few words! Chapter title belongs to a movie of the same name.

The art for this chapter was done by a reader here at FF who saw the art gallery and wanted to make something for the story. I was thrilled and flattered! So please go check it out this week (link on my profile). And many, many thanks to cemicool for the beautiful image!!

Beta thanks go to pokeystar and drcjsnider, as always. Music is by inadaze22, and the music for chapter 25 is available now as well.

* Occam's razor – you can find more information about it at Wikipedia. a href=".org/wiki/Ockham_razor"Wikipedia/a


	27. Something Good

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 27 - - Something Good**

**- - -**

He was staring, blatantly, his mind stuck.

The girl smiled. "You must be Draco. I'm very happy to finally meet you."

So much information was transmitted with that single sentence. First, she'd spoken in perfect English, no trace of an accent despite being raised in France. Second, she knew his name, and if he had to guess, she'd seen pictures of him. Lastly, she seemed genuinely glad to meet him, which meant that someone, probably his parents, had talked about him.

Draco felt his breakfast threaten to resurface and swallowed, forcing the bile down. His very nerves felt wrapped in a sense of just … floating. He couldn't tell if he was standing, sitting, or running, but her eyes, sapphire grey, locked him in place.

She was waiting, and so he forced words out of his throat, wincing as they scraped along the gaping wounds that seemed to be in every part of his body. "And you are Cassiopeia."

"Cassie," she corrected. "Don't get me wrong, I like my name, it's just a little cumbersome."

Draco nodded mutely.

"Mum told me that it's something of a tradition in her family to name children after celestial images," she said matter-of-factly. "I looked up your name. We're going to study it in Astronomy this year."

"I … I see," he rasped out.

Cassie smiled sadly. "I guess … Mum and Dad didn't tell you about me. How did you find me?"

"No, no they didn't." He took a deep breath. "I was searching for someone else when I came across your name in connection with him."

"Who's that?" she asked.

Draco glanced around and saw a stone bench a few yards away. "Let's, um, sit. I need to sit." He didn't wait for her to say anything before making toward the bench. When Cassie was seated beside him, he pulled out the picture of Rodolphus he'd been carrying with him. "Have you ever seen this man?"

Cassie didn't hesitate. "Yes. He's our uncle."

With every word she said, Draco felt as though the knife that his parents had stabbed him with was twisted deeper into his flesh.

"Yes, he is. When have you seen him?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I've seen him a lot. When Dad was in prison, he used to bring me things. Presents from Mum. For my birthday."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You knew … your father was in prison?"

Cassie nodded. "He was in for seven years."

"Do you know why he was in prison?"

"Draco …. You should know that they love you, very much," she insisted.

Draco turned away so he could scowl without her seeing. This—_her_—was too much to take in; the very fact that she existed meant that for so much of his life, he'd been lied to. Deceived. By the people who were supposed to watch out for him, protect him, be _honest_ with him.

"They didn't tell you about me for a reason." Cassie grabbed his arm for emphasis—the arm with the mangled scar—and he hissed, jerking away from her touch.

"Oh!" she gasped, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, Draco!"

Still frowning, he rubbed the place where the Dark Mark had tainted his flesh. "Cassie. I have known … our parents far longer than you have. There is no need to defend them."

"But—"

"They will get the chance to speak for themselves," he growled. "Make no mistake about that."

"I just want you to know that I know everything," she told him earnestly. "About Dad, and you, and the war, and Voldemort."

"Brilliant," he said gruffly. He was so …. He felt so many different things, all at once, that he didn't know exactly what he felt at any given moment. He was angry, confused, lost, livid, torn, betrayed, relieved, terrified—all in the space of an instant.

"Do you know why they didn't tell me about you?" he demanded, more harshly than he'd intended.

Slowly she nodded, reluctant to admit this truth to him. "They have a good reason," she whispered. "I'm not allowed to tell."

Draco clenched his fists, then gripped the knees of his trousers, then stood to pace quickly beside the bench. He just wanted to run, to block the pain that bombarded him. "I'm searching for this man; your uncle. When did you last see him?"

"I haven't seen him since Dad got out of prison," she replied, her voice small.

When Draco looked down at her, he was horrified to see fear in her eyes. He stopped pacing and sighed, running a hand through his hair. Part of him wanted to embrace the girl … Cassie … his … _sister_ … with open arms, to welcome her into his life. At the same time, he was finding it extremely difficult not to focus the anger he felt for his parents on her. She was such an easy target, this girl he'd known for five minutes. And yet it wasn't fair; he needed to control his temper, wait until he could expel it on the people who deserved it.

He sat back down beside her.

"How often do you see y-your parents?" Draco asked.

"Mum comes as often as she can," Cassie replied, the happiness she'd displayed upon seeing him returned. "Every six months, she comes for the sales and stays for weeks at a time. It's wonderful. She comes on weekends, too, sometimes."

"And before Lucius went to prison …. Did you see him?"

She frowned in thought. "I did, though I don't really remember it. I was still very young. I remember him at the end of the war, though. He visited just before going to prison."

"I see." He had to stop asking about them; he wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with her answers.

Cassie reached for him again, but hesitated and withdrew her hand. "Is your arm hurt?"

Draco shook his head, then rolled up his sleeve. When she saw the wound, Cassie hesitantly reached up to touch it. Draco flinched very slightly.

"Dad has one too," she whispered, lightly trailing her finger along the snake.

When she removed her hand, he exhaled, not realizing he'd been holding his breath. "You've seen it?" he asked, covering his arm once again.

"Yes," she replied, contemplatively. "When he was here recently. They told me then that it might still be months before you learned of my existence. How did you find me?"

Draco hesitated. She knew why his parents hadn't revealed her existence to him. She probably knew all about the blackmailing, as well. Merlin, his parents had trusted an eleven-year-old with their secrets, but not their son, their first-born, the one on whom Lucius had placed the responsibility of providing for the family for seven years. It was mind-boggling.

"I … I was searching for your uncle, and I came across your name. He brought money for your school back in Paris."

Cassie nodded. "I know. Mum and Dad wanted to be sure I was well cared for. Whenever he was in town, he stopped in at the school to see how I was doing."

Draco ground his teeth. "I thought you might be able to tell me where to find him now," he said, answering her question at last. "So I went to your school, and was told you were here."

"What did you expect to find?" she asked, her gaze locked with his.

He shook his head. "I … I'd considered this, only very remotely. I thought you might be my cousin."

"Now what do you want?" she whispered.

Draco took one look at the girl—his _sister_—and knew that he could never simply walk away, leave her as though nothing had happened. She was trying her best not to give away what was in her heart, but since she hadn't been raised in the Malfoy home, she hadn't developed the hard exterior that he had learned from his parents. It was as obvious as the difference between night and day: she wanted him to stay.

"I … I would like to know you better," he confessed.

Cassie beamed. "Me too! I've never had a brother—I mean, I have, but I never knew you. Only what Mum and Dad told me, and they love you, Draco, very much. They hate having to keep this from you, I wish you could believe me."

He forced a smile. "Let's talk about something else."

"Lovely." She cocked her head to one side. "Tell me about Hermione Granger."

Draco's eyes shot wide open, and he almost laughed out loud. "Hermione?"

"You're dating her, aren't you?" she asked, accusingly. "She's your girlfriend? We get the news here, and besides, Mum told me about it. It happened when they were visiting."

"She is," he replied cautiously. "What did they, um, say about it?"

"Well, Dad got very quiet and went to bed. Mum was thrilled that you were seeing someone."

Draco couldn't get used to Cassie calling Lucius 'Dad'. He had and would always be 'Father' to him. Though, from now on, he might not call him anything or speak to him ever again.

Cassie frowned. "They didn't talk about it much." Then her expression brightened. "Can I meet her?"

"May I—"

"May I meet her?" she corrected. "Please, Draco?"

Finally, he felt like smiling, and he did, though it was only a very small one. "I'm sure she'd love that."

"Yay! Thank you!"

Her smile lit up the entire courtyard, and Draco knew he was very close to being completely crazy about his sister. His _sister_! He had a sister!

"I think she's amazing," Cassie continued, animatedly. "She's brilliant, interesting, pretty …."

Draco didn't even try to mask his surprise. "You … you think so? She's Muggle-born, you know."

Cassie made a face. "Dad can be entirely ridiculous sometimes. And Draco, I don't care about all of that. I wasn't raised with it, like you were. I mean, I lived with Muggles for my whole life until now. It wouldn't be a good idea to go around hating them, would it? My best friends are Muggles."

He shook his head in disbelief. She was … amazing. She smiled easily, wasn't afraid to let her feelings show, and she didn't have a single prejudiced cell in her body. If she didn't look so much like Narcissa, Draco wouldn't be able to accept that Cassie was really a Malfoy.

"Why did they choose White for your surname?" he asked.

"They could hardly use Malfoy, now could they?" she teased, smiling. "Black was too obvious if anyone came looking, so they went with the opposite."

Draco accepted her answer, and then dozens of questions popped simultaneously into his head. _How do you like school? What's your favorite class? Do you really think my girlfriend is pretty? How do you know English so well? Do you like goat cheese? Do you read? Do you play Quidditch? Do you have an ounce of Slytherin in you?_

"Now, please tell me something about Hermione Granger!" she cried, exasperated.

"All right!" he chuckled. "What do you want to know?"

"Is she really as smart as the papers say? What about that Charlie bloke? Do you like kissing her?" At this, Cassie made a face. "What does she teach at Hogwarts? Do you think she'll like me?"

"It would seem you have as many questions as I do," he replied with a smile. "Of course she'll like you. And yes, she is just as smart as they say—maybe smarter."

Cassie grinned, her golden hair blowing gently in the cool breeze. She looked ready to launch into a series of questions so Draco spoke quickly, an idea pushed to the forefront of his mind.

"What happens when your parents come for a visit?" he asked, glancing at Madame Maxime.

"Oh yes! That's perfect!" She hopped up from the bench and approached her Headmistress. Draco trailed after her. "Madame," she said reverently, "I would like to take one of those emergency vacations until the end of the week. With my brother."

The word caused Draco's heart to swell inside his chest. "Madame, I have a request of my own."

When Maxime looked at him, he could tell that she had been affected by watching Draco and Cassie interact. She seemed … softer, somehow, in a way Draco couldn't define. "What is it?"

"I know you'll be writing my parents." He clenched his fists. "I'd like to ask you to wait. Not write them immediately."

"Oh yes, please Madame!" Cassie echoed.

Maxime nodded once. "I will write them Friday morning."

"Thank you!" said Cassie enthusiastically. "I can't wait! When may we leave?"

The older woman chuckled warmly. "As soon as you gather your things."

**ooo**

On Wednesday, Hermione felt decidedly disappointed at dinner. She still hadn't heard a word from Draco, by letter, Floo, or any other means of communication. It was strange; the last few weeks hadn't been exactly full of interaction between them, but she missed him more than usual.

Perhaps it was knowing that he was in a different country, and she had no idea what he was up to that bothered her most. At least, in England, she'd known where he was: his office. Not that she didn't trust him, of course she did; she simply preferred knowing what was going on in his life.

"You all right?" asked Blaise, who was seated to her right.

"Yes," she sighed, pushing her mashed potatoes around on the plate. "Just not terribly hungry."

Blaise nodded, chewing. "Any holiday plans?"

She blinked. "I … Oh! Christmas is just a month away!"

"Slipped your mind, huh?" he asked with a smile.

"Completely," she affirmed. "My goodness. So then no, no holiday plans. Nothing special, anyway. You?"

Blaise shrugged. "The usual. I'll be here. Mum has plans to be in Thailand with friends."

"I'm sorry." Hermione frowned.

He chuckled. "Don't be. I'd rather be anywhere but there."

"I have no idea what I'll be doing," she said, more to herself than to him. Usually she had a quiet Christmas morning with her parents and then took them with her to the Burrow for a huge dinner and holiday celebration. Now that she was with Draco ….

She was accosted by frightening images what Christmas might look like with him. First, she showed up at Malfoy Manor, and Lucius slammed the door in her face. Then Draco and Charlie got into a fight at the Burrow, and the night ended with one or both of them admitted to St. Mungo's.

Hermione shook her head as she finally decided to stop pretending to eat and pushed her plate away.

"Finished?" asked Blaise, setting his own fork down.

"I am," she replied, tossing her napkin on the table.

Blaise shifted in his seat. "Would you like to go for—"

He was interrupted, however, when Samaya rushed up to the table, her eyes wide. "Professor," she hissed, leaning low across the table.

Blaise scowled.

Hermione frowned. "What is it?"

"May I speak with you?" she asked, desperation tingeing her voice. "Alone?"

"Of course." Hermione stood and pushed in her chair. "I was finished anyway."

Samaya walked briskly out of the Great Hall, and Hermione had to almost jog to keep up. "May we go to your room?" Samaya asked as she headed toward the dungeons.

"Sure," Hermione replied. When they reached her door, she said the password. Samaya bolted into the room and started pacing. "What is it?" Hermione asked. "Is everything all right?"

"I … I don't know." Samaya paused long enough to look at Hermione with terrified eyes.

Hermione crossed her arms and regarded her student with deep concern. "You're frightening me."

"No, it's not—My Father got two more letters from … Rabastan LeStrange." She seemed to deflate and landed heavily on Hermione's sofa. "He doesn't know what to do. Do you think …? Would you mind …? Draco Malfoy said that if I needed anything to ask him …."

"Do you want me to write him?" Hermione asked.

Samaya nodded vigorously. "Would you?"

"Of course!" Hermione assured her, joining her on the sofa. "I have no idea what he's doing, but I know he'll take the time to hear what you have to say."

"Thank you." The girl seemed to relax with relief. "Tonight?"

Hermione nodded. "Right away."

**ooo**

Draco stared unseeingly at the gates outside Hogwarts. All he had to do was push them open, take one step after another, and he would be inside the building where Hermione was.

He was exhausted, though. Draco had managed to successfully avoid Isabella after speaking with her briefly at the castle, and he had written to Fleur to tell her he didn't need her help after all. From the moment Maxime had approved their requests, he and Cassie had spent every waking moment together. They'd returned to Paris and stayed in the flat, talking mostly, but also venturing into the city for food, treats and fresh air.

The time together had been amazing, but they hadn't slept much, staying awake until they literally fell asleep mid-sentence and rising with the sun.

Now he was completely exhausted, and even though he wanted to see Hermione more than anything, his heart was in pieces. They weren't necessarily broken pieces, he just didn't know which direction was up anymore.

Movement in his periphery caught his attention, and he saw two students walking across the cold, hard grounds, bundled tightly against the freezing wind and holding hands. As he stared, he saw the colors of the scarves the students wore and smiled to himself. It was the couple Hermione had talked about, with the girl from Slytherin and the Gryffindor boy.

Seeing those colors together made him realize just how much he'd missed Hermione, and he opened the gate, crossing the grounds against the wind. He removed his heavy outer cloak once inside the castle and headed for the dungeons as quickly as possible.

He found Hermione's door and knocked, suddenly very anxious to see her. Just as he was about to knock again, the door opened, revealing Hermione in a knee-length skirt, cashmere jumper, and pearls. Her hair was done, and she was even wearing a hint of color on her lips. He blinked, his entire body humming at her nearness. He felt like a man dying of thirst, finally presented with life-saving water.

"Draco!" she gasped, eyes wide with surprise.

He smiled, unable to stop himself. "Hey."

"Hi," she breathed, finally seeming happy to see him. "Come in."

After she closed the door, Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, wrapping his other arm around her waist. "You're beautiful," he said, capturing her lips in a burning kiss. She sighed happily, folding herself into his embrace and eagerly returning his advances.

Draco spent a few minutes simply relishing the feel of her body against his and the taste of her lips. He didn't move his hands from where they were, one holding her firmly in place, the other fisted in her magnificent curls. It was all he wanted—for the moment, at least—and he treasured every delighted sound Hermione made.

When her hands started to roam, Draco slowly ended the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as they both caught their breath.

"Merlin, you're amazing," he said thickly, tucking a curl that he'd set free behind her ear. "Are you going somewhere?"

She swallowed and nodded. "Dinner at the Burrow. I hadn't heard from you all week, so I didn't think you'd mind."

"Oh, of course I don't." Then he grinned wickedly. "I may try to convince you _not_ to go, however."

The smile she gave him very nearly undid him; as it was, he felt suddenly weak at the knees. Merlin, he had missed her more than he'd realized. So much had happened—where would he start? He wanted to kiss her until he forgot his own name, until he'd lost all coherent thought, but at the same time ….

Draco wrapped his arms around her again and buried his head in the crook of her neck. A sense of warmth spread through him and he sighed contentedly; he was home.

When he finally pulled away, feeling as though a large chunk of his sanity had been restored, he smiled. "I've missed you."

She smiled for a few seconds, and then she blinked, her expression changing slightly. "Did you get my letter?" she asked.

Fear gripped his heart for an instant, worried that she had written to say she wanted nothing more to do with him. "What letter?"

"I wrote you two nights ago," she said. "You never responded."

"I …. Oh. I blocked all incoming owls."

"Why?" she asked, hurt, annoyed, and concerned.

"I apologize," he said quickly. "I've had a … difficult week. What was the letter about?"

Hermione shook her head. "Samaya. You promised her that if she needed anything, she could come to you, right?"

"Yes." Now his heart started thudding nervously, and he wondered just how much it could take. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know." She went to the desk in her room and removed something from a top drawer. "I promised I wouldn't read them until you'd seen them. Here. The first one she got from her father last week, the second one Wednesday."

Draco accepted the parchment, noting her worried expression. Hermione sat on the sofa and he remained standing, leaning against the mantle to read.

_Black—_

_All of your questions will be answered in time. But time runs short._

_R.C.L._

He scoffed at Rabastan's useless note and then opened the second.

_Black—_

_Enough questions! What we want is your loyalty. Once we appoint our new leader, the man who will direct us into a new era, he will assuage your fears. _

_You must be there, Black. Our new leader is your family, though distantly. He will not look favorably upon your absence. In fact, I daresay he will feel spurned and seek to right the wrong. Take this into consideration. He was once the Dark Lord's trusted servant, and he is poised to follow in his esteemed footsteps._

_Be there._

_The New Moon_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Midnight._

_Or else._

_R.C.L._

Renewed and revived anger flooded through Draco, and it took all of his will power not to crumple the missive and throw it in the fire. It wasn't his letter, he reminded himself.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Draco returned the letters to her and started pacing. "Go ahead." Rage kept him from being able to really processing anything of what he'd just learned. "Read them."

She gasped when she got to the second letter. "Oh!"

"I know," he muttered darkly.

"Your father?" she asked.

Draco nodded. "Who else? Why else would it be held at my bloody house?" He let out a frustrated growl. "I can't believe him. He looked me in the eye and told me he had no intention of joining this … this ludicrous venture. Death Eaters? Without the Dark Lord? Are they mad?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know what to say."

He exhaled sharply and threw himself into the chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. This was almost too much. First the blackmailing, then Cassie, and now this? He wasn't sure he could handle it all. Not without a drink, at least.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

"Honestly?" He chuckled. "No. I'm not."

"What's happened? Why haven't you contacted me all week?" The second question was hesitant, as though she wasn't sure she wanted to ask it.

Some of Draco's anger dissipated at her tone, and he got up from the chair and joined her on the sofa.

She continued to speak. "It's not that I don't trust you, Draco, I do. I suppose I've grown accustomed to knowing what's going on in your life, and of course I don't need to know every little detail, but—"

He touched a finger to her lips, and she stopped, cringing slightly. Draco smiled tiredly. "I have no excuse, but I do have an explanation. I hope you'll at least understand why my mind was scattered."

"All right," she whispered.

Draco leaned back and took her hand in his, lacing his fingers with hers and rubbing small circles with his thumb.

"I did exactly what we talked about," he began. "I went to the bank Monday morning to meet with the Manager. I discovered that from the first three deposits made by Rodolphus, a total of sixty thousand Galleons was transferred to another account."

"At the same bank?" she asked.

Draco nodded. "The money went to a girl who is currently eleven years old."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "A girl? What do you mean?"

"Her name is Cassiopeia," he continued, squeezing her hand as his gut flipped. "She's my si-sister."

She stared at Draco, her expression astonished. "Your … sister?"

It was the first time he'd said the world aloud, and the world didn't screech to a halt. Somehow.

He nodded.

"I don't … understand." Hermione shook her head, frowning. "How can that be possible?"

Draco chuckled. "Well, Granger, when a man and a woman love each other very much—"

She swatted his arm lightly with her free hand. "Draco," she said warningly but with a smile.

He shrugged. "My mother got pregnant the summer before my fourth year. She had Cassie in March, but I had no idea. I didn't go home for Christmas because of the Yule Ball. Cassie tells me they put her up at a Muggle school in Paris and secretly sent money for her care."

"Why?" Hermione breathed.

"That I don't know. Cassie knows, but she swore to my parents that she wouldn't tell me—or anyone, really." Draco leaned against the sofa cushions, putting his arm on the back behind Hermione.

"So you met her?" she asked, settling against him.

Draco dropped his arm to her shoulder, and she nestled even closer. "I did," he replied, and then he told Hermione everything that happened to bring him to her doorstep that night.

She only interrupted once, when he mentioned dinner at Bill's—

"Oh, Charlie told me about that," Hermione interjected.

"_Charlie_?" he repeated, incredulous.

"Ginny and I saw him on Tuesday," she said indifferently.

He scowled, jealousy and ill-will toward the red-head boiling his blood. "Fascinating," he grumbled. "What did he have to say about dinner Monday night?"

Hermione smiled. "He told us that Fleur's friend preferred you over him."

Now he scoffed. "Well, naturally. He exhibited no personality whatsoever. He responded to her questions with one-word answers and showed no interest in making conversation."

"And you?" she asked.

"I'm a Malfoy; there are certain expectations that come with the name," he said, as though he shouldn't have had to explain himself. "I made small-talk. That's all."

She remained silent through the rest, stiffening slightly at the mention of Isabella. Draco knew she wouldn't simply forget. He concluded with him dropping Cassie back at Beauxbatons with Madame Maxime.

"She looks just like my Mum. But her eyes are a mix of Mum's and Father's. They're quite striking," he finished. "I've spent the last three days getting to know her, and today, Maxine wrote to my parents to tell them that I'd discovered Cassie."

Hermione was staring at the coffee table, a troubled expression on her face. She didn't say anything for a long while after he finished speaking.

When she remained silent for a few minutes, he stood and stretched his legs, glancing around the room for something to drink. He didn't find anything and Conjured a bottle of cognac from the Manor. After pouring himself a drink, he motioned toward the bottle.

Hermione nodded, and he poured one for her too. She took a small sip and then shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know what to say. How are you taking all of this?"

Draco chuckled and swirled his drink. "I'm not entirely sure, actually. I … I have no idea what I'm supposed to feel."

"That's understandable," Hermione said sympathetically. "I … I just can't even begin to imagine what you've been through! I do wish you'd told me sooner."

He sighed. "I know. I'm not use to having someone I can turn to for comfort or to share my troubles. However, I thought about you. A lot."

She smirked. "How did you find the time?"

"Are you joking?" he asked. "You were constantly on my mind."

Hermione nodded. "That's nice to know."

Draco wasn't sure what to make of her tone. She seemed to want to say more, but for some reason, she held back. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Hermione, you can talk to me. You know that." He returned to the sofa and sat facing her. "I should have written you, but I barely knew what to tell myself, much less how to put it into words. I was so terrified of being alone with my thoughts that I first accepted a dinner invitation from Weasley and then made one the very next night. After that, I was with Cassie."

"Who's Isabella?" she blurted, averting her gaze the moment it was out of her mouth. Her next comment was barely above a whisper. "You've never mentioned her before."

Draco felt a pang of guilt at her question. No, he hadn't done anything wrong, but Hermione had felt it necessary to ask about Isabella, which meant he had failed at completely convincing her that he wanted no one but her.

"She is a woman that my Father wanted me to meet," he replied honestly. "The perfect example of what he wants for me: beautiful, discreet, and pedigreed." He infused as much spite into his words as he could.

Hermione bit her lip. "How did she know you were there?"

"I don't know. After I found Cassie, I didn't see Isabella again," Draco replied. "So I couldn't ask. I'm almost certain my father alerted her that I was in Paris. You saw the Place de la Magie; she could have perched outside at a café and waited for me. Though … I'm not sure exactly how my father knew where I was." He frowned at the thought and made a mental note to look into the matter.

Her smile was forced. "All right. I'm sorry for sounding so jealous and insecure—I'm usually not. It's just … I heard about some friend of Fleur's from Charlie, and now your Father has hand-picked a French witch for you …."

Draco scoffed. "You should know I don't care what he wants. Especially after everything." Again he felt close to snapping as his thoughts approached his father's transgressions, and he had to change the subject. "You know I want you."

"I know. And I have to remember you promised me a letter if something changes," she said, not quite looking him in the eye.

"Hermione," he said incredulously. "Think about what a ridiculous thing you've made me agree to." She looked at him skeptically then. "I have to send you a letter if I decide that I want to throw away everything we have together for some one-time shag. It's absurd!"

She shook her head slightly. "It might not be a one-time thing, though," she insisted. "What if you meet someone and want to have a delicious month-long affair?"

Draco was torn between wanting to wring some sense into his witch and snogging her senseless until she _got the point_. What actually happened fell in the middle. "I have met someone with whom I want to have a delicious affair, and I sure hope it lasts longer than a month," he said, joining his hand with hers again. "Please, please believe me. Let it sink all the way into the marrow of your bones."

"Draco, you need to be open to anything that strikes you."

"I'm afraid that's impossible," he said unapologetically. "I can't force myself into something if my heart isn't in it. And that-that thing, thumping inside my chest … it's rather into you."

Hermione grinned, her eyes bright and beautiful, before quickly looking away. She didn't say anything for a few moments, and when she met his gaze again, she was still smiling. "What do you want to do now?"

That was an easy question. "I came here with the hope that I wouldn't have to think about anything until tomorrow," he replied. "With Samaya's letters, my mind is even more made up to do exactly that."

"Would you like to go to the Burrow with me?" she asked.

Draco laughed. Going to dinner with the large red-headed clan wasn't exactly what he'd been thinking. "Would that make you happy?"

"It would," she said and gave him another brilliant smile before standing.

Draco could have sworn he'd seen something lingering in her eyes, something he had seen in them whenever she burned for him, but he refused to think about it. If he did, he'd end up pulling her to the floor and forgetting all thoughts of food, camaraderie, and Weasleys. His resolve was weak as it was.

"I went to the kitchen earlier today and made a pie," she called from her bedroom. "It's on the mantle. Would you grab it?"

"Sure. What is it?" The dessert looked incredible, and his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Hermione joined him by the fireplace. "Blueberry. It's …. Oh! I should probably tell you. Charlie will be there."

Draco valiantly fought the scowl and the drop in mood, but it was to no avail. "Oh. Why?"

"He's on holiday this week, and Molly wanted to give him a proper congratulations dinner for the award he won in September. He hasn't been home since."

"Why were you invited?" he couldn't help but ask.

She gave him a pointed look. "The Weasleys are practically family, Draco. Just because it's for Charlie means nothing; Molly will use any excuse she can to have the family over." Hermione took a handful of Floo powder and prepared to step into the fire.

"Wait," he said, grabbing her arm as she took a step. When she was facing him, gazing patiently into his eyes, Draco almost forgot what he meant to say. He glanced at her lips and before he'd decided to do it, met her lips with his. Merlin, he could never kiss her too much.

Hermione ended the kiss this time, pushing lightly against his chest. "We're already extremely late," she murmured, the low tone of her voice driving all thought away.

"Right," he said, forcing his thoughts away from her and onto things like toadstools and bowtruckles. He'd wanted to ask her for the same courtesy she'd demanded from him: if she decided she wanted to be with Weasley again, she'd send him a letter. But he didn't. Because he knew how he felt about her request.

"Shall we?" she asked, holding out her hand.

"Absolutely."

**ooo**

The evening at the Burrow was … interesting, to say the least. Draco was forced to watch Charlie and Hermione interact, which they did surprisingly well, considering her rejection of him. He made her laugh which really rankled.

However, Charlie had to watch as Draco made a few not-so-subtle claims on Hermione. Draco knew that Weasley was far from over her and would do his best to spin her back toward him. That much was clear from Hermione's recounting of her visit with Charlie earlier in the week. So Draco did what he could to show the older man in no uncertain terms that Hermione was _his_.

He'd touch her now and again—her arm, hair, back. When he knew no one but Charlie was looking, he gently kissed her, causing her to blush and discreetly push him away—though, her eyes told of other desires. When they sat on the porch, he casually rested his arm around her and played absently with her hair.

When they waved goodbye to everyone, Draco realized his greatest victory: he was leaving with her.

His mood was soaring by the time they stepped through the fireplace into Hermione's rooms. A glass of wine by the fire was in perfect order, and he started to say as much to her when she grabbed his collar and pushed him into the wall.

Draco's eyes flew wide, but when she pressed herself against him and kissed him fiercely, he smirked against her lips and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"You've been … driving me … mad … all night," she breathed between kisses.

"Yeah?" he growled predatorily. When he reached for her jumper, she pushed his hands away.

"It's my turn tonight." Hermione gazed at him hungrily and started unbuttoning his shirt. "I've been wanting to take this off you since you spilled a dab of wine on the cuff during dinner."

Draco blinked, completely startled and turned on. "You've been thinking about divesting me of my garments for two and a half hours?"

Nodding briefly, she lunged against him, pulling the shirt off his arms as she kissed him. Then she went for his undershirt, kissing her way up his chest as she slowly peeled it off. "Well, that and everything else I wanted to do to you once my first mission was accomplished."

Draco could barely string two words together in his state of blissful euphoria. Hermione Granger was seducing him and doing a fantastic job of it. He tried to take a more active role in what was going on, but she refused to let him. She kissed him to the brink of oblivion before pulling herself away.

He opened his eyes, desperate for her touch, her lips, her scent, only to discover that she was already halfway to her bedroom, her sweater on the floor in her wake. She was slipping out of her skirt, wiggling her bum, when he launched himself across the room and grabbed her, propelling both of them onto the bed.

Draco couldn't remember ever being so aroused, and he knew that was saying quite a lot. He wanted—no, needed—to take control, but Hermione absolutely wouldn't let him.

"_I_ will delight _you_, for a change," she said as she rolled him onto his back. When he struggled, she threatened, "Don't make me hex you."

He couldn't respond and decided to stop resisting, to allow her to exquisitely torture him for as long as she wished.

**ooo**

Some time later—he couldn't say when for a million Galleons—Hermione lay in his arms with her back to him, breathing softly. The fire cracked in the other room, providing the only light. Draco watched the light dance on her skin and sighed, nuzzling closer.

"I missed you," she whispered.

He smirked against her hair. "If that's how you're going to greet me after absences, I might have to spend more time away."

"Don't."

The hint of pleading in her voice quelled the levity in his affect. He squeezed her again. "Not if I can help it," he promised.

Untold minutes passed again with neither of them speaking. Then something welled inside of Draco, a feeling of perfect contentment. His heart felt full to bursting, his lungs tingled, and he slowly smiled. Merlin, he was lost to her. Completely.

Then the strangest thing happened; his realization manifested in the most peculiar way imaginable.

"My … my sister," he stuttered, as though testing the waters or tugging on a rope to see if it would hold him.

"What about her?" Hermione asked when he didn't continue.

"She's so … different. From me," he added quickly.

She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "How so?"

"She's …. Well, she knows what she's about. I don't know if that makes sense," he said, frustrated at being unable to put his impressions into words.

"It does," Hermione encouraged.

Draco sighed. "She's only eleven, but she's already so far ahead of where I was at that age. She's confident, self-aware."

Hermione sniggered. "You were the embodiment of confidence at age eleven."

"So you perceived," he said quietly. "That's exactly what you were supposed to think. I emulated my father's mannerisms, his bold demeanor, brash wit, and superior airs. But I was extremely unsure of myself. I was constantly trying to live up to others' expectations—most notably, Lucius'—to prove myself to my peers, professors, parents … even to myself."

He paused, smiling to himself as he remembered. "Cassie … is a lot like you. A combination of you and my mother. She has confidence, poise, grace, and she's not afraid to say something unpopular. If not for her appearance, I'd never take her for a Malfoy."

"Does that bother you?" Hermione asked.

"Yes and no," he said with a shrug. Then after a few moments, he said, "She wants to meet you."

At that, Hermione started. "Really?"

"She thinks you are fabulous—her words—and she looks up to you." He chuckled. "I told her she couldn't have chosen a better woman to admire."

"That's … remarkable." Hermione's tone was skeptical.

Draco kissed the back of her head. "Cassie doesn't have an ounce of prejudice in her. She was raised with Muggles and lived far away from my parents' poisonous beliefs."

She said nothing, only shifted slightly and pulled his arm tighter around her.

"She laughs so easily. I would wager that she has laughed more in her eleven years than me and my parents combined in twice that time." If only she had been with them. Her sweet voice and melodic laughter would have brightened the halls and lifted his spirits. Then again, if she'd been there, perhaps she, too, would have experienced the darkness in the world. "She's _happy_. I've only felt truly happy a few times in my life."

"How does that make you feel?" Hermione asked.

Draco felt a pang inside and knew that this was the reason he's spoken up. To say what he'd been thinking in his deepest, hardest-to-reach parts since the first time he saw his sister.

"Looking at her … watching her, listening to her. She's a Malfoy, but she doesn't know how to act like one. She doesn't know that she's supposed to better than everyone else, that she shouldn't let her emotions show as it gives the enemy an advantage. She doesn't know she should have enemies, that she should hate based on trivial offenses or status." He swallowed thickly.

"Her parents are _my_ parents, but to hear her talk about them, I wouldn't know them." A lump formed, making further speech difficult.

Hermione turned in his arms to face him and lovingly traced the scar on his cheek.

Draco couldn't look her in the eye, so he pressed his forehead to hers and took several long, deep breaths. When he felt he could continue, he pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss and then spoke. "When I look at her, it's like … like looking at a mirror of what could have been. The way I could have turned out. If I'd been raised by _her_ parents."

It was the overwhelming truth. Raised outside of the Malfoy home, Cassie had grown into a well-adjusted girl with a wide-open future. She could do or be anything.

This stood in stark contrast to his life, epitomized by the last seven years.

"Don't forget that she also escaped the whole war, the pressures that came with it, the fear and despair. Despite all that, I think you've turned out all right," Hermione said with a small smile.

He shook his head. "I'm still very flawed."

"Who isn't?" She drew her finger lazily along the scar on his chest courtesy of Potter. "As long as you're working in the other direction, you're doing okay."

"I guess I've done something right," he conceded, curling a tendril of her hair around his finger.

Hermione smiled. "How's that?"

"You're here, aren't you?" he asked with a lazy smirk.

"I am," she murmured and kissed him.

**ooo**

**End Notes:** Chapter title and the last little scene inspired by "The Sound of Music." Thank you to everyone who read this!! And thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter. I really can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Beta thanks belong to pokeystar and drcjsnider, and as always, the playlist is by inadaze22 (though I added the last song in there!). The beautiful art for this chapter was done by kryptiq of LiveJournal.


	28. True at First Light

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 28 - - True at First Light**

**- - -**

Hermione woke slowly, a smile forming on her face at the feel of an elbow in her back. With great care, she turned to face Draco. He was fast asleep with his mouth open slightly and his breathing heavy.

For a moment, she considered waking him, but then the details of his week sunk in. On top of the emotional strain, he had mentioned not getting much sleep, and she hadn't exactly gone easy on him the night before. He hadn't complained or given her reason to suspect his exhaustion, but to look at him now …. She doubted he'd wake up any time soon.

Hermione slid out of bed, doing her best not to disturb him. He didn't even move. She put on a robe and started a kettle of water boiling for tea. After a glance at the clock—she still had an hour before she had to leave for her parents'—Hermione took her tea onto the small balcony attached to her living room.

The air outside was bitter cold, and she quickly cast a warming charm before leaning against the stone wall of the castle. The grounds were still waking up, light lazily seeping through the air to cover everything in a dull haze. It was beautiful.

She thought over everything Draco had told her, still unable to completely grasp the reality that he had a sister. Even more incredible was Cassie's story, sent away at birth to live in a different country. Hermione hoped the explanation wouldn't be too dark. Though, it sounded as though she'd grown up well. Cassie was probably better off being far away from the Malfoy family during the war ….

Hermione pushed away from the wall. It was an excellent explanation for Cassie being sent away. To protect her from the war. Only …. She started pacing. Cassie was born during the year of the Triwizard Tournament, the year of Voldemort's return. How quickly had the child been sent to France? Immediately after her birth? Or did they send her to safety only after Voldemort was resurrected?

She would have to discuss it with Draco. It was a theory, at the least.

Another cup of tea was in order. Hermione went inside and started another pot of water, checking on Draco while she waited. He had moved, snuggling further under the covers, but he was still soundly sleeping.

Hermione returned to the balcony and leaned against it, sipping slowly from her hot beverage.

Just before her second sip, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and she smiled, leaning into Draco's embrace.

"Good morning," he murmured in her ear.

"Morning," she replied lightly. "Would you like some tea?"

He nodded against her hair. "That sounds wonderful."

Hermione turned to enter her rooms, but Draco kept his arms encircled around her. She smiled up at him, her breath catching at the sight of him. There were moments when he took her breath away, instances when she would look at him and feel suddenly weak at the knees. It could be a quick glance at him as they worked, or the feeling might come after staring at him for a while. He would move, even very slightly, and the picture would change, rendering her breathless. Or she might see him a hundred times in a day, but the hundred and first time did her in.

She dearly loved gazing at him.

Now was one of those moments, with the lazy sun poking through the haze to fall on his unkempt morning hair. The scar on his cheek stood out more than usual, and she felt a twang in her heart. In moments like these, she thought she loved him.

Draco lowered his head to press his lips to hers in a gentle, welcoming kiss. He didn't press his advantage and kept the kiss light, pulling away after a few moments.

"Tea. Coming up." She smiled and entered the living room, flicking her wand to start the fire under the kettle.

Draco followed her in, closing the door behind him.

"Did I wake you?" she asked, taking down her box of tea bags. "You were sound asleep when I checked in on you a few minutes ago."

"No," he replied, stretching. "Your alarm woke me."

"Oh! I'm sorry!" The kettle whistled, and Hermione took it off the fire and poured water into a cup. She indicated the tea trimmings. "Here you go. Sugar, milk."

"Thanks." Draco smiled and prepared his tea.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

He shook his head, chuckling. "Really well. Better than I can remember in a very long time. I can't remember sleeping past eight since … well, school, I think."

"I'm glad." Hermione started tidying up the kitchen area. "I'm certain you needed the rest."

Draco finished his tea and handed her the mug. "Thanks, again. So … what do you want to do today?"

Hermione crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "I've got breakfast with my parents this morning," she replied. "That's what the alarm was for. After that, a trip to Hogsmeade."

Draco nodded slowly. "I see." He smiled lazily. "Any chance you'd let me tag along?"

Hermione blinked. "You want to come?" Not many of the men she'd dated even got to meet her parents, and only two had been to breakfast more than once: Ron and Charlie. That Draco would ask to come back made her heart swell.

He looked away and shrugged. "I'm not quite ready to be alone … yet."

The look on his face was troubled, and Hermione didn't press him. "You're welcome to join me," she said, smiling. "That alarm meant that I have only twenty minutes to get ready. And we've been standing around for nearly ten."

Draco looked at her questioningly, then a smile slowly spread across his face, ending in a smirk. "I guess we'd better hurry."

Hermione felt heat creep into her cheeks at his look. She didn't know exactly what had gotten in to her the night before, but all through dinner at the Burrow, she'd wanted to jump her boyfriend. She'd even considered pulling him into the bathroom for a quick snog. Though she'd never been shy in the bedroom, Draco simply did something to her that made her more adventurous. It wasn't just his skills, though they were impressive. He made her feel beautiful, amazing, as though he was continually delighted in being with her..

"There's just one shower," she remarked.

Draco took her hand in his, eyes blazing with desire. "Whatever shall we do?"

**ooo**

They were only seven minutes late to Hermione's parents', breathless and hearts still pounding.

"Mum?" Hermione called, squeezing Draco's hand as she let go and entered the house. "Dad?"

"In here!" called Elizabeth.

Hermione glanced at Draco and then headed for the kitchen, pulling him behind her.

Elizabeth was standing over the stove.

"Mum," said Hermione. "I brought Draco again."

Her mother turned around, surprise evident on her face for an instant before she smiled widely. "Draco! Well, this is a surprise!"

"I apologize for showing up uninvited," said Draco sincerely. "I needed to get out of the house."

"Oh, don't be silly. You're always welcome." Elizabeth motioned for Hermione to join her. "Simple fry-up this morning. Almost finished."

Hermione left Draco and joined her mother, who gave her a pointed, curious look before stepping out of the kitchen. "Thomas!" she called up the stairs. "Hermione and Draco are here!"

Thomas Granger joined them promptly, kissing Hermione on the head. "Morning, beautiful," he said, then held out his hand. "Draco."

"Mr. Granger."

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Thomas asked.

Hermione spoke before Draco could. "I've got an appointment this afternoon and Draco's accompanying me."

"Ahh." Thomas cast a wary look at Draco but said nothing.

Hermione didn't like the idea of her parents thinking about Draco spending the night, even though they must know he did. It was one of those topics best left unaddressed.

The meal passed quickly, to Hermione's surprise. The conversation was light and easy, her parents were welcoming, and Draco was superb.

"Breakfast was wonderful," said Hermione, smiling and putting her napkin on her plate. "But I must be going; My appointment is at eleven."

"All right," said Elizabeth, standing to clear the table. "It's ten 'til, dear, you'd best be on your way."

"I hate leaving you with all the dishes," she said, wringing her hands.

"Don't be silly. You usually stay and help, but today you've got other plans." Thomas nodded at the table in general. "Your mother and I will take care of it."

"It was great seeing you again, Draco," said Elizabeth. "I hope you'll join us again sometime soon."

Draco smiled warmly. "I'd like that."

Hermione hugged her parents, and then she and Draco went out the back door in order to Apparate.

"So we're off to Hogsmeade, right?" He paused for confirmation and she nodded.

"Ready?" She held out her hand and he sighed deeply as he accepted it.

Once they'd arrived, Hermione started in the direction of a small house on the outskirts of the village.

"Now what?" Draco asked.

Hermione stopped and nodded toward it. "I have an appointment to see this house." She folded her arms. "I'm considering buying it?"

Draco blinked and considered the house, this time with a far more scrutinizing gaze.

"Coming?" She smiled over her shoulder and waved him on, then went to the door and knocked.

After a few seconds, it opened. "Ah, Miss Granger."

"Hello, Miss Applegate," she said, shaking the woman's hand. "Thank you for meeting with me on the weekend."

"Call me Diane," said the woman with a professional smile. "I understand you're very busy with work. Are you still interested in seeing the house?"

Hermione heard Draco join her on the front porch. "Yes, please."

"Would you prefer a tour, or to view the house at your leisure?" asked Diane, flicking her wand and starting a fire in the fireplace.

"I'd like to look on my own," said Hermione.

"Very well," said Applegate, her eyes flicking to Draco. "I'll be here if you have questions. This is the living room; the kitchen is through there, as is a dining area and small nook. Upstairs are two bedrooms and a bathroom. There's a modest garden behind the house, and you saw the front garden. The furniture belongs to the owners, of course."

"Thank you," Hermione said, examining the living room. It was small but cozy with a large fireplace and windows overlooking the front and side yards. The wood floors were almost black and the two of the walls were a dark greenish-blue. The third wall, which housed the fireplace, was entirely made of brick. It looked like the perfect room in which to curl up with a good book.

When she looked at Draco, he was frowning as he examined the molding around the window.

"How old is the house?" he asked, not turning from his task.

"It was built in the mid-nineteenth century and updated with all the modern conveniences within the last twenty years," replied Diane.

Hermione watched her give Draco the once-over and rolled her eyes. Merlin, did he attract the special attention of every woman he came across? She realized that his effect on women wasn't going to diminish anytime soon. Would she really be able to put up with other womens' reactions to him for … the rest of her life, possibly? She really wasn't the jealous type, but it would have to get old after awhile. Maybe if she just locked him away for the next twenty or so years ….

She chuckled at herself. "You said the kitchen was this way?"

Diane nodded.

The kitchen was beautiful, with the same floors as the front room and cream walls. The cupboards were mustard yellow, and the counters were cream tile. A large farmhouse sink. The cooker was cream like the walls, as were the other appliances.

A door opposite the front door led to the back garden, and Hermione could see the promise of a lush spring bloom. It was absolutely perfect, and she'd only seen two rooms.

"This is a nice fireplace," Draco remarked.

Hermione spun around to see what he was talking about. The fireplace from the other room was open to the kitchen as well. The hearth on this side was shorter, less intrusive in the room.

"Oh!" she cried, irrevocably falling in love with the house.

Draco chuckled. "Let's see the upstairs." He indicated the other room with his head, and Hermione understood that he wanted to speak with her alone.

"Good idea."

He took her hand, an unreadable expression on his face, and led her back into the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. He entered the first bedroom he came to and closed the door behind him, putting an Imperturbable charm on the walls and door.

"You're thinking of buying this place?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes, why not?" she asked.

"I-I don't understand. What about Hogwarts?"

She blinked. "I can still teach at Hogwarts. Harry lives outside the castle, and he makes it work."

Draco shook his head. "I'm just surprised. You haven't mentioned anything about moving. When would you do this?"

"After the school year," she replied, inspecting the room as she paced slowly around the perimeter. "I suppose you could say that … _you_ have made me think about this."

"Oh?"

The floors were wood but not as dark as those downstairs, and the walls were pale green. "I … I realized I can't live at the school forever. It's not practical. I can't ask my … my future husband, should I be so lucky, to live at a school where children are magically educated. I can't raise children there."

Draco frowned. "Plenty of teachers live at school."

"The heads of house are required to live on campus, but it's optional for the other teachers," Hermione explained. "When we were in school, none of our teachers who were married lived at Hogwarts."

"And … _I_ inspired this line of thought?" he asked, amused.

Hermione fought a blush. "Being with you … with someone, made me think, is all. About my future. And I don't believe it's at Hogwarts in the same capacity it is now. If at all."

"You'll give up the Slytherin house?" he asked, sitting on the settee.

She nodded. "I have really enjoyed being head of the house, but it isn't exactly in line with my goals. I haven't been able to do as much research as I want lately. I've examined three of the four ash samples you gave me, but it's slow work when I have so many other things to do. I enjoy teaching, but I would eventually like to focus my efforts on research. For the betterment of the wizarding world."

Draco smiled. "That does sound like you."

"And," she said, trailing a finger along the window sill. "I also remembered that you and I made a deal a few months ago to provide me with lab space and funding for my research."

"We did, indeed," he said, smirking.

"It completely slipped my mind for awhile," she admitted. "I suppose I got caught up in helping you find the blackmailer."

He nodded, then tilted his head, watching her thoughtfully. Hermione didn't notice; she was too caught up looking at the large windows and a small fireplace in the corner. This room, too, would be very light and airy.

"Is this what you want?" he asked. "A house and a family?"

Hermione stopped walking around the room and leaned against the wall behind the settee, examining her fingernails. Anything to keep from looking up and meeting his gaze.

"Yes. Eventually. I'm not feeling any sort of strong desire for it right now, but eventually." Hermione knew this was an important conversation, but it was one she certainly hadn't expected to have while viewing a house for sale. While she and Draco needed to know the other's goals for the future at some point, and she wasn't sure if she was ready for this conversation. What if he didn't want the same things she did?

"What about you?" she asked after clearing her throat. "Do you want a family?"

He smiled wryly before chuckling. "I do. I wish it could be a simple matter of me finding the woman I want and marrying her."

Hermione frowned, fear creeping into her heart. "Why couldn't it be?"

Draco turned sideways on the settee, resting his arm on the back. "There is a reason my father has already picked someone out for me to marry."

The little green monster mewled.

"There's a lot riding on the position of Malfoy bride," he continued. "There will be incredible pressure on … her. My parents have expectations, of course, but you know I don't care about that. It's just … I can run away from the business for a long while, but I'll eventually go back. It's the family business. And as I've told you, I can't balance my life and work very well. My wife will have to be very understanding."

Hermione frowned. "You might not have balanced well in the past, but you were also dealing with the crippling blackmailer. I'm sure that without that, you'd do better."

"That's true," Draco remarked, nodding slightly. "Good point."

"You could potentially meet someone, marry, have a family, and see all the children off to Hogwarts before you need to return to the business. Right?"

"I suppose …." He trailed off, thoughtful. "But I would still worry about abandoning her when I returned to the business."

Hermione looked away. "So maybe a matched marriage would be better for you."

Draco didn't speak right away, but he seemed troubled by her statement. "How can you say that? Do you really believe it?"

She shrugged. "It wouldn't be what I would choose, but in your situation … perhaps with an arranged relationship you wouldn't mind going back to work. Of course, you might fall in love with her before then."

"Stop, just—stop!" he said suddenly. "This conversation is absurd. I refuse to let my parents choose my mate for me. I'd rather be alone for the rest of my life."

"Do we have no future?" she asked quietly, glancing up at him with her eyes.

Draco stared at the settee for a few seconds, then stood and walked around it and leaned on the back, facing her. "Being the wife of a Malfoy is not exactly something I'd wish on you," he said kindly. "You'd be dumped into a strange circle, forced to deal with the politics of society, all the gossip, back-biting, back-_stabbing_ …. I think you'd hate it, honestly."

Hermione's insides started clenching uncomfortably. What they had was amazing, but if it would never go anywhere, she wasn't sure she could continue falling for him. That was a guaranteed heart break.

"Then what are we doing?" she asked.

"You wouldn't hate it?" he countered.

"I-I don't know! Why would it have to be that way?" Merlin, she was fighting tears! She'd gone from being thrilled at the house to scared of losing him in a matter of minutes.

Draco huffed, frustrated, and raked his hands through his hair. "I don't know! I've never been married!" He scowled at the floor. "All I really know is what my parents expect. Someone to be at my side when I want her there, produce children, never question my decisions …. Basically, someone who will stay in her place and never betray me or the family."

"A wife who wouldn't speak unless you approved of what she said," Hermione suggested.

He shrugged. "I guess."

"Someone who isn't me," she concluded.

"It's not just you," he argued. "It's … almost no every woman in the wizarding world. My father and I had a horrible argument about this just before he went to prison."

"About marriage?" she asked. Hermione was surprised at how steady her voice was considering how torn up she felt inside. He wasn't outright saying they had no future, but he wasn't painting a picture she could fit into, either.

"Yes," he replied, agitated. "He wanted me settled before he got out, and I refused to agree. I never refused to marry, but it wasn't enough. I didn't want to make a promise I couldn't keep, and he took it as defiance. A son can never blatantly defy his father's wishes. I could have been disowned, but my mother stepped in and kept things from going that far."

Hermione shifted her weight but said nothing.

Draco continued staring at the floor, lips pursed and clearly frustrated. "Eventually, Lucius understood—and by that I mean he processed the words as I meant them—that I wanted to find my own way through life. He couldn't empathize, as he'd always done what was expected of him."

"Always?" she repeated, her unease increasing slightly as they skirted what she most wanted to know: did he think she was someone he could see spending his life with?

"That's what I've been told my whole life, at least," he said bitterly. "I grew up trying to emulate that, to please my father. He wanted the best scores at school, wins at Quidditch, and acceptable associations, because that's what was required of him. I tried … and when I failed, repeatedly, I went through a very dark time, culminating in eagerly joining the Death Eaters."

Hermione didn't know what to say, but she suddenly felt the need to be closer to him. She crossed the small space separating them and leaned against the settee, taking his hand and threading her fingers with his. When he gave her hand a small squeeze, it eased some of the tension she felt.

"He was told to marry a certain type of witch by a certain age, and he did, no questions asked," Draco said quietly. "I think my mother has spoken with him on my behalf because he hasn't brought up my marriage since his release. Other than to mention Isabella, of course."

He pushed off from the settee and took Hermione's other hand, turning her toward him. "I haven't given a lot of thought to my future. But when I do think about it, I know that I want you in it."

Every nerve in her body seemed to fire at his words, and her heart started pounding. She blinked a few times, trying to force away tears that threatened to fall, and swallowed through the lump in her throat.

"When I say I haven't given it much thought, that's not an exaggeration," he warned.

"I understand," she said, smiling shyly. "It's good to know, though. We can just take things slowly and see what happens."

Draco smirked. "I'll tell you what's about to happen."

"What's that?" Her heart was still pounding and her emotions reeling from their conversation that she wasn't sure was even over yet.

"I am going to kiss y—"

He was interrupted by Diane knocking on the door. "Everything all right? Did you have any questions?"

With lightning-quick reflexes, Draco took down the imperturbable charm on the door.

"We'll be down in a few minutes," Hermione said, biting her lip to keep from laughing at the situation.

Draco gave a low chuckle and stepped away from her. Neither of them made a sound until they heard Diane's footsteps clop-clop down the stairs.

Hermione still didn't feel as though she was on solid footing yet. Her nerves were still on end from their conversation. The fact that his response ended up being a good one didn't instantly alleviate her fears. "I need to see the rest of the house, and quickly." She headed for the door, but Draco stopped her, crossing the room in three quick strides to head her off.

"Hermione." He stopped and smiled. "You okay?"

"I will be," she admitted, weakly returning his smile. "I need some air and some time."

He nodded and stepped out of her way.

Hermione quickly poked her head into the loo, which ran along the entire length of the house, then went to the second bedroom. She'd only intended to glance, but something unexpected caught her attention, pulling her into the room. "Oh!"

Draco strolled in behind her, hands in his pockets.

"Draco, look!"

The bedroom was roughly the same size as the other one, with large windows on two adjacent walls, one facing the back garden and the other the side. Beside the wall shared by the bathroom, however, there was a tight spiral staircase leading up through the ceiling

Hermione climbed it excitedly, gasping at what she found. The bonus room was very small, with windows on all four walls. Beneath the windows were long, low bookshelves, practically bursting with books.

She heard Draco climb the stairs, and when his head appeared, she squealed happily.

"You love it, don't you?" he asked, smirking.

"It's perfect," she said, going to one of the windows and peering out. "We'd better go, though. I'm not even sure how long we've been here. I don't want to keep Diane waiting any longer."

"Sure," he said easily, going back down the staircase.

Hermione smiled at the room in general and followed him down.

When they reached the living room, Diane looked up from her folio. "Did you have any questions?"

"No," she said, grinning. "I'll take it." She could feel Draco's gaze on her.

Diane blinked. "The house?"

Hermione nodded. "Absolutely. What do I need to do in order to secure it?"

The wizarding estate agent flipped through her parchments. "We'll schedule an appointment to discuss the details, but I'll contact the sellers and let them know."

"Thank you," Hermione beamed. "How is next week?"

**ooo**

Hermione and Draco walked to the street in silence. When they reached the front gate, Draco spoke.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Not really," she replied. "I'm too excited."

"How about tea?" he tried.

She smiled. "All right."

After a few awkward seconds of standing in place, Draco started in the direction of the main street in town, and Hermione quickly fell into step beside him. When they reached the end of the quiet road, he took her hand.

"Are you sure this house is what you want?" he asked softly, not looking at her.

"Quite," she replied enthusiastically. "It's exactly what I had in mind."

"How did you find it?"

"About three weeks ago, I contacted Diane—through her office, I mean—and asked her to let me know about any homes for sale in Hogsmeade," Hermione began. "I wasn't in any hurry; I can't move in until school is over. I've seen a few houses, but when I saw this one …."

Draco chuckled. "I'm glad you like it. I think it suits you very well."

They reached Madame Pudifoot's and stopped outside the door. Hermione didn't exactly want to spend time in the overly decorated, claustrophobic café, and she hesitated when Draco reached for the door.

"Want to get it to go?" he asked.

She smiled thankfully. "Yes, that sounds great."

With warm, steaming cups in hand, Draco and Hermione found an empty bench on a side street.

"Mmm." Hermione closed her eyes, relishing the feel of the hot liquid as it flowed down her throat. "May I ask you something?" she said quietly.

"Absolutely," he replied.

"I don't want to dwell on this too much, but there's one thing I need to know." She swallowed and took a deep breath. "You said that when you think of your future, you want me there."

"That's right."

Hermione took a quick sip of her tea. "How realistic is that? Wanting is one thing, but remember your family's expectations. I know people don't always get what they want."

Draco frowned. "My parents … have no say whatsoever in my future."

"Can't they disinherit you if you displease them?" she asked.

"No. Not anymore," he replied firmly. "There was a point when that was possible—I don't know what kind of stipulations they'd put on my inheritance—but when I took over as Head of the House, all of that became irrelevant. I made sure I'd be taken care of in all eventualities."

"So … if you decided you wanted to marry a Muggle-born …."

"They could scream and rant and protest all day long," he replied, glancing at her. "Wouldn't change a thing."

Hermione nodded, still not entirely convinced. She couldn't remember how the conversation had turned to the future, but she almost wished it hadn't. They'd only been together for a few months, and she was scared things were moving too fast. Especially since Draco hadn't been in a relationship for six years. It couldn't possibly last, couldn't possibly be real and substantial—could it?

"Hey, don't worry," Draco insisted. "Let's talk about something else. The future will work itself out. Who knows? We might decide we hate each other tomorrow."

Hermione chuckled. "All right, something new. What are you going to do now?" she asked. "You sort of found what you were looking for in Paris. Will you return to the Manor? Continue looking for the money?"

He continued staring down at the ground, spinning the cup slowly in his hands. Then he sighed. "This … is the hard part. I'm not going back to the Manor until I'm ready to confront my parents. That much I know. As for the money …." He shook his head. "I don't see how I can possibly find it. After the initial deposits, Rodolphus could have taken that money anywhere, or hid it under his mattress."

"Why don't you try to find him?" Hermione suggested. "Ask him about it. You already know that your father put him up to it, maybe he'd talk to you."

Draco scoffed. "I doubt it. Whatever they're plotting together—and I think I have a good idea—my father wouldn't leave any room for my uncle to talk."

"What do you think is happening?" she asked, finishing her tea and leaning back against the bench.

He sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position as well. "Those letters of Samaya's, the blackmailing, the missing money …. It can't be coincidence. My father had been anticipating his release from prison before he even set foot in Azkaban. Somehow, he'd arranged with my uncles to band together the remaining Death Eaters after his release. And the money …. Well, Rodolphus has been using that to fund the project."

"But your father only agreed to a certain amount for the blackmail," Hermione countered. "Ten thousand every month."

Draco smirked wryly. "Lucius said that amount, and it's stuck with me, but he also mentioned twenty or thirty thousand. Who knows what the actual agreed upon figure was?"

Hermione shook her head. "So you think Lucius and your uncles conspired to resurrect the Death Eaters after he got out of prison."

"Yes." Then he sighed heavily and tossed his head back, rolling it slowly from side to side. "At least, that's my best theory."

"All right, no Manor and no more searching for the money," she summarized. "What next?"

Hesitantly, Draco withdrew a crumpled slip of parchment from his pocket and handed it to her.

Hermione opened it to see a few words scribbled hastily in his hand:

_Midnight_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Full Moon_

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's the information on the meeting." His voice was gruff, as though he was reluctant to voice his plans. "From Samaya's letter. I plan to attend."

She gasped and looked back at the otherwise innocuous missive. "You're going to be there? With the Death Eaters?"

"What better way can you think of to get information on my father's doings?" he asked, taking the slip back from her. "I've still got my heavy Death Eater robes. Burned the mask, but you never know when a thick, warm, wool cloak will come in handy."

Hermione stared at him, her expression horrified.

Draco laughed. "Relax, it's not like they were involved in any action. They're practically new, for all intents and purposes. Unspoiled. I swear."

"All right," she said shakily. "Will you get rid of it though? After this?"

He turned his gaze on her, his eyes bright, burning, curious, and intense, and after studying her for a few moments, nodded. "If you wish it."

"I do," she said quickly. The thought of being in the same house with anything remotely connected to the evils perpetrated by Voldemort …. Her heart thumped, and she realized that Draco himself fit that description. Hermione scolded herself for giving an object more importance than it deserved.

"I will go to this meeting, see what's involved, and go from there," he concluded.

"When is the next full moon?" Hermione asked.

"Two weeks from today," he replied, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his outer cloak and drawing his body inward.

"You're cold," she observed. "Let's go."

She made to stand, but Draco grabbed her arm. "No. We've started this conversation, and I need to finish it. I'll cast a warming spell."

Hermione nodded, got resituated, and turned her body toward his. "Two weeks from today seems like a long time to wait. Why did they pick the New Moon?"

"It's a Death Eater thing," he replied sourly. "When there's no moon, it's usually darker than other nights. It's supposed to be symbolic of their very nature."

"Ahh. Very … dastardly."

Draco chuckled. "It is a while to wait, that's for sure."

"What will you do until then?" Hermione asked. Part of her hoped that he would travel, get some of his irresponsibility out of the way, but she also wanted him to stay where she could get to him.

"I think I'll return to Paris," he replied after not much thought. Then, grinning he added, "See if I can't pull Cassie out of school a bit more. Oh! Speaking of Cassie." Now he turned his entire body to face her, pulling one leg onto the bench in front of him. "Would you join me next weekend? Cassie really wants to meet you. We can stay in Paris, or go to Normandy, the Rivera, Basque country, the Alps …. Lyon, France, is the food capital of the country, you know."

She smiled. "I didn't know that. I'd love to come."

Draco's answering smile was brilliant, reaching all the way to his eyes and crinkling the corners. More than that, it was genuine, the first truly honest expression she'd seen him make—other than in the throes, at least—since he showed up on her doorstep the night before.

**ooo**

The rest of the day and the next flew by, and before she knew it, Hermione was kissing Draco passionately beside the fireplace, clinging to him. She really didn't want him to leave; the weekend simply hadn't sated her thirst for him, despite the day spent luxuriating in each other.

Eventually he pulled away, out of breath and eyes slightly glazed over. "I'll write. I swear."

"You'd better," she scolded.

"Give this to Samaya." He handed her a folded note. With a smirk, he added, "I'm not able to bring myself to feel sorry that I didn't get to see her in person."

"I'll deliver it first thing tomorrow," she promised, ignoring his allusive comment.

Draco grabbed his sack and stepped into the fireplace. "See you in a few days."

Hermione nodded, wrapping her arms around her body. She missed his scent, his touch, already. "Au revoir."

He smiled and disappeared in a whorl of green flames.

She stared unfocusedly at the spot where he'd just been, not ready to let go of his presence. If she wasn't careful, she'd find herself desperately in love with him. If could prove disastrous for her. A man like Draco Malfoy couldn't fall in love easily. He had too many options, so many avenues available to him in life. Though, she suspected that if he _did_ lose his heart, it would be irrevocable. He was entirely too passionate for his own good, something she relished taking advantage of.

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought, and she blushed, unable to look at the furniture in her small apartment the same way.

**ooo**

Hermione did as promised and gave Draco's note to Samaya during breakfast Monday morning. She wasn't sure if she should stay or go, and after a second of hesitation, turned to leave.

"Wait," called Samaya, already reading the note. By the time she reached the end, she'd gone pale.

"Everyone okay?" Hermione asked, concerned.

Samaya shook her head. "I-I don't know what to think about this," she said, listlessly handing the note back.

Hermione scanned it. Draco told Samaya not to worry, that he had a plan. He asked her to tell her father to attend the meeting and to look for him, that he'd be wearing a steel guard over his entire right hand.

"What's the matter?" she asked, returning the note.

Samaya jumped up from the table and strode out of the Great Hall, and Hermione had to jog to keep up. When they reached a deserted hallway, the young Black stopped and whirled on her professor. "What's the matter? My father doesn't know anything about these people! He wants nothing to do with them! How is he supposed to go there and pretend to want to be involved?" She started pacing.

"I'm sure Draco knows what he's doing," Hermione offered. "He'll be there, with your father. He'll make sure nothing goes wrong. I think he's only going to observe, anyway."

"I don't like this," Samaya muttered. "What if something happens? What if they try to probe his mind and they see that he isn't committed? What if they ask him to _do_ something, like hurt a person?"

"Draco will be there," Hermione repeated. "He won't let anything like that happen."

Now Samaya was wringing her hands. "How can you know that?"

"Because I trust him," she replied. "I know that he wants even less to do with Death Eaters than your father does."

Samaya continued to pace in silence, her face contorted in anxiety. Hermione didn't speak either, knowing she couldn't say anything to alleviate the girl's fears unless she allowed it.

After a few minutes, Samaya stopped and turned toward her, leaning against a desk. She crossed her arms, eyes anxious. "I'm afraid."

Hermione's heart went out to her student. Though she knew the hate and prejudice wouldn't be so easily quashed, she had hoped that all of the fear and tyranny from Voldemort's reign had died with him. Yet here stood one of her students, just seven years after his fall, terrified of the same people who stood at Voldemort's right hand. She had fought for more than this; people died so that this particular fear would never again be realized. It made her blood boil, and she suddenly wanted to be by Draco's side at that meeting. The chances of him being okay with that, however ….

"Don't be," she said firmly. "Don't let them have that power over you."

Samaya blinked, then bit her lip. "I'm just … concerned. About my father."

Something in her tone set off an alarm in Hermione's mind. She didn't pursue it, but made a mental note to think on it further and possibly discuss it with Draco.

"There are almost two weeks until that meeting," Hermione said, trying to reassure the girl. "Don't worry about it right now. You're welcome to write Draco and ask him for more details."

"Is there any chance I could speak with him?" Samaya asked. "In person?"

She smiled. "I will find out."

Samaya nodded. "Thank you, Professor. I-I just don't know who else to turn to. My family doesn't really know anyone in England."

"I'm happy to help. I know Draco is too."

The girl forced a smile. "I know. Thanks again. I should get to class."

"Breakfast," Hermione corrected gently. "It's the most important meal of the day."

"Right. Okay." Samaya left without another word.

**ooo**

After that, the days started running together for Hermione; she was anxious for the weekend, to see Draco, to meet Cassie, and to talk to him about Samaya.

She called her parents early in the week to let them know she couldn't make it to breakfast, and they wished her a nice trip and weekend.

Friday morning, Hermione woke early and finished packing her bag. By the time her seventh-year class ended, was anxious for the day to be over. Just lunch and one more class before she was off to Paris—or somewhere in France—with Draco.

On her way out, Samaya asked her if she'd heard from Draco yet. Hermione told her she hadn't, but that she was seeing him that weekend.

Once everyone was gone, Hermione went to her room to double-check her packing job. As she was looking for a book to read during lunch, a knock sounded on her door. Hermione grabbed an old favorite and went to answer the summons.

She certainly wasn't expecting the person who stood on her doorstep. In fact, she gasped, nearly dropping the book.

"Mrs. Malfoy!" she cried, eyes widening.

Narcissa Malfoy smiled primly. She wore exquisite robes in deep purple, and her hair was pinned under a matching hat. "Good day, Miss Granger. Is this a bad time?"

"Er, I—no. I was just heading to lunch," she replied, gripping the book tightly now.

"Excellent." The elder witch beamed. "I'm glad I caught you. May I …. Would you join me for lunch today?"

Hermione nearly choked on her surprise. "Lunch?"

"I know it's short notice, and for that I apologize," said Narcissa. For an instant, Hermione saw something like desperation flit through the woman's eyes, but then it was gone. "I hope you don't have other plans."

She shook her head. "No, Ma'am."

"Wonderful! There's this little café I've been wanting to try in Dublin. Shall we give it a try?"

"Ireland?" Hermione replied, genuinely surprised and instantly suspicious. "Don't we need an International Portkey for that?"

Narcissa's smile was thin. "I've made all the arrangements."

Her tone was too cheerful, too light to be natural. Something was bothering Draco's mother, and the fact that she'd come to Hermione intrigued her to no end.

"May we go somewhere closer?" Hermione asked, instinct telling her she could press her advantage. "I've only got an hour for lunch today, and I'm down to … fifty-four minutes."

"Of course, dear." Narcissa nodded. "Hogsmeade?"

"That's fine," Hermione replied. "Let me grab my cloak."

The women walked through the dungeons and out of the castle in silence. They spoke only a few inconsequential words between them as they made their way to Hogsmeade.

Hermione thought Narcissa would head to the Three Broomsticks, the nicest pub in the small town, but instead she bypassed it for the Hog's Head. It was a remarkable juxtaposition; on one hand, Narcissa Malfoy seemed too prim and proper for the dirty pub, but as a Malfoy and former Death Eater, the seedy joint was entirely expected.

Narcissa led her to the table farthest in the corner, and after thoroughly cleaning the table with a few wand movements and muttered spells, sat down with great show. She didn't speak until after they'd been served their drinks, and it amused Hermione to watch Narcissa order a shot of Firewhisky and then down it before finally speaking. Draco had done the very same thing.

"Miss Granger … Hermione." Narcissa took a deep breath to collect herself. "I believe you must be aware of why my s-son hasn't responded to my letters. I'd like to know why."

Of course; she was there about Draco. Hermione smiled wryly. "Surely you must know as well, if you're writing to him."

The mask seemed to slip a little, and Narcissa frowned, worry marring her flawless beauty. "I-I know what bothers him," she whispered. "I want to know what he's thinking. Feeling." She looked up, tears in her eyes. "Does he hate us?"

Hermione immediately found herself in an uncomfortable position. Though she would never betray Draco's trust, she didn't like seeing his mother upset. It was encouraging to see her worried about her son, however, and the tears seemed genuine.

"He needs … time," Hermione replied. "I'm sure he'll come to you when he's ready."

"He has every reason to despise me," she sniffed, removing a handkerchief from her robes. "I would like to know h-how he's doing. Have you seen him recently?"

There could be no harm in giving Narcissa a few vague details about her son. "I saw Draco last weekend. He's … coping. He has many questions, and he has quite a few emotions to work through."

Narcissa cried out softly. "I can't imagine. You must know we didn't intend for him to find out this way. We had a-a plan. This is too soon."

The woman looked up, and Hermione was surprised to find a great strength and peace in Narcissa's eyes along with the pain and fear.

"I didn't really expect you to answer my questions," Narcissa continued with a tiny smile. "However, I had to try."

"Naturally," Hermione said sympathetically.

"There's one thing I would like to impress upon you," she said emphatically. "It's very important to me to say this, and I hope you will believe me."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "I can't make any promises."

"No, as I expected. I appreciate that you will at least listen." She took a breath and said, "We—Lucius and I … we love Draco very much." Narcissa laughed at Hermione's skeptical expression. "You must think horribly of us—of me. To say I love my son after everything …. But Hermione, I do. We do. More than I could ever hope to express with words."

She had no idea what to say. How could Narcissa claim to love her son after what she'd put him through? Ignoring everything that happened during and before the war, she'd deceived him in the worst way possible and participated in the blackmailing by not revealing it. She'd hidden from Draco the existence of his sister for her entire life. Hermione couldn't imagine how the woman could speak the words required to confess her love for her son, much less truly believe and feel them. It made no sense.

Shaking her head, Narcissa continued. "My life … our lives have been so convoluted these many years. Things snowballed, grew too monumental for us to properly deal with—and we were immature and power-hungry. Lucius and I have much to answer for with respect to Draco.

"But Hermione, everything—and I mean _everything_—that we've done since our daughter's conception has been for him." Her voice was strong now, steady, as though she was entirely convinced of the truth of her words. "And her, of course."

Hermione stared at her untouched glass of water. "I hope you get the chance to explain yourself." It was all she could say with complete honesty.

Narcissa sniffed, tears once again filling her clear, blue eyes. "As do I. Thank you, Hermione, for agreeing to join me and hearing my confession. Would you tell him that I miss him?"

"And that you love him?" Hermione asked.

Narcissa glanced at her hands. "He won't readily believe that, I fear."

"With good reason," she shot back.

"Undoubtedly." The woman forced another smile. "You'll tell him?"

Hermione sighed. "I will."

"Lucius and I thank you. If-if you ever need anything," she said hopefully, "you are always welcome in our home."

She didn't believe that for an instant, at least, not so far as it extended to include Draco's father. "That's … kind of you."

Narcissa stood abruptly and tossed a few coins on the table. "Thank you again, Hermione. I must be off now."

"What about lunch?" she asked, her stomach growling impatiently.

"Forgive me. I'll make it up to you another time."

The Malfoy matron practically fled the pub, and Hermione was left pondering what had just happened. Not only had Narcissa approached her about Draco, but she had opened up and done her best to be honest—about something, anyway. Not the heart of the matter, but that was best left for her to tell Draco directly.

Hermione hadn't even unclasped her cloak, and with a glance to make sure Narcissa's payment covered the tab, left the pub, more anxious than ever to see Draco.

**ooo**

**End Notes:** Chapter title taken from a book by the same name by Ernest Hemingway. Thank you to everyone who read this!! And thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter!! I really appreciate it. Beta thanks belong to pokeystar and drcjsnider. Inspiration and continuous support come from somandalicious. The playlist, once it's ready, is by inadaze22. The totally stunning art for this chapter was done by draconis23 of LiveJournal.


	29. Waiting

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. Just writing for fun.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 29 - - Waiting  
**

**- - -**

"Stop fidgeting," Cassie scolded.

Draco sent her a playful glare and continued pacing.

"If anything, I should be the one nervous," she explained. "You already know her. I'm the one meeting _the_ Hermione Granger for the first time."

"I just hope you like each other," he grumbled, glancing every few seconds at the fireplace.

Cassie was seated on a comfy armchair in the large, main room of the Malfoy's Paris flat. Her ankles were crossed, and a serene smile rested on her lips.

Draco on the other hand had been darting around the flat for the last half an hour, checking, double checking, and rechecking everything he might possibly need to check. There were plenty of clean linens, a well-stocked pantry, and every inch of the place had been magically cleaned.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about," Cassie declared.

The fireplace roared to life then, and Draco whirled to face it. Hermione emerged from the green flames, and for an instant, there was nothing else in his world. He smiled unconsciously and went to her.

She brushed off the soot and then beamed at him. "Hi!"

"Hermione," he breathed, wanting to hug her but hesitating, self-conscious. He'd really only hugged her once, and that was when she'd returned from her confirmation mission in Paris the month before. He knew that couples embraced as a sign of affection, but it suddenly felt awkward. Besides, his sister was watching.

She looked at him questioningly before started removing her cloak.

"Let me take that," Draco said, accepting the garment when she'd finished. He stood tall and moved so the two could see each other. "Hermione, may I introduce my sister, Cassie. Malfoy." Their last name came out slightly strangled. "Cassie, Hermione Granger."

Cassie bounded off the chair and over to where Hermione stood. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she said, extending her hand.

Hermione smiled. "And you as well. Enchanté."

"Oh!" Cassie's eyes lit up. "Do you know French?"

"Un petite peu," she replied. "Very little. My parents and I vacationed in France a few times growing up."

"It's a marvelous country," Cassie remarked. "Though I can't wait to see England. Mum and Dad have told me so many stories, I almost feel as though I've been there."

For some reason, every time Cassie talked about their parents, it made Draco uneasy. It was a strange sensation to hear stories about people he'd known his entire life who sounded like complete strangers. It made him sad.

"It's beautiful," said Hermione.

"Well?" Cassie looked from Hermione to Draco, who was still holding Hermione's cloak. "Shall we be going?"

Draco tutted. "Let's give Hermione a few minutes to settle in a bit before rushing her off. She might want a tour of the flat."

"May I show her around?" Cassie asked.

He glanced at Hermione, who nodded, and he agreed. "I'll put up your cloak."

"No need," said Cassie, smirking. "We'll be leaving very soon anyway."

Draco watched his sister lead his girlfriend into the first room and sighed. He was extremely glad to see Hermione and even felt the tiniest bit resentful that Cassie would be with them all weekend. He suddenly wanted her all to himself.

When Cassie had finished with the grand tour, she returned to the great room with Hermione in tow.

"And then we'll come back here for dessert before you go back to Hogwarts," Cassie said matter-of-factly.

"Sounds like you've got the whole weekend scheduled." Hermione smiled at Draco.

"I'm very excited!" Cassie bounced on the balls of her feet, smiling widely. "I've never been to the southeast of France, and I've heard amazing things about it."

"Let's get started," said Draco, shrinking his own pack and tucking it into his robes. "Are you all right with that, Hermione? Would you like some tea before we go?"

"No, I'm ready to go now," she replied.

Cassie smiled widely. "Excellent!"

**ooo**

"So what do you think?"

Hermione smiled and sipped from her wine glass. "She's incredible."

Draco nodded. "She is. I can't believe she's my sister, that she … shares the same blood as me. Have you ever wanted a brother or sister?"

It was Saturday night, and they were sitting in a corner of their hotel room. Cassie was fast asleep in her bed, her body lightly rising and falling with her steady breathing. Draco and Hermione were sitting on the sofa, and he had his arm around her shoulders.

She shrugged. "Sure, at times, when it was lonely with just my parents or when visiting the Burrow. Seeing all of the Weasleys together, happy and content despite whatever circumstances …. Harry and I have talked about it."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"He grew up with a cousin, but Dudley hardly counted as a sibling," she explained. "He hated Harry. At least I had my parents, though."

Her comment reminded Draco of the things he had said in fifth year to land him in the hospital wing courtesy of Potter and Fred Weasley. He'd never been sorry about it; they were children, and kids said horrible things. Now, though, after meeting Cassie, knowing that she had essentially grown up without her parents, he felt a small twinge of regret for taunting Potter about his parents. A very tiny twinge.

"I went through periods when I wanted a sibling and others when I didn't," he said quietly. "When my parents made me upset or angry because they didn't behave exactly the way I wanted them to—I was quite spoiled, you see—I wished I had a brother to entertain me. But when things with them were good, I was happy I didn't have to share them with anyone. I never wished for a sister."

Hermione grinned. "Spoiled? You? Really?"

He sent her a bored, tolerating look.

"I know you're thrilled to have her now."

Draco chuckled. "Absolutely. Wouldn't change it for anything."

"I get the impression you've talked about me a bit," she said, a teasing glint in her eyes.

For some strange reason, Draco felt his cheeks pink; he couldn't imagine why that would embarrass him, but it did.

Hermione laughed at his discomfort and leaned over to kiss him softly on the lips. "It's nice to know."

"Cassie wouldn't stop asking questions," he said. "Though I had to answer many of them with 'I don't know'."

"Oh?" Hermione asked. "Like what?"

Draco swirled his wine glass and took a small sip. "Little things. Your favorite books, foods, pastimes. I told her to ask you those kinds of questions."

"Those are the kinds of things you'll learn over time," she said. Then she smiled. "Cassie does seem rather inquisitive."

"See what I mean?" he said. "She's nothing like me."

"She is," Hermione countered. "She's a lot like you. It's hard for you to see it, perhaps, because she doesn't have many of your learned traits. But there is no doubt that she's your sister."

That made Draco smile.

"I have a few things to report," Hermione said.

When he looked at her, she was spinning her empty glass between her hands. "Would you like more wine?" he asked, grabbing the bottle. She nodded, and he poured her another glass.

"First," she began, "is Samaya. I gave her your note, and when she read it, she nearly panicked."

"Why?" he asked, frowning.

"She seemed worried about her father attending the meeting," Hermione replied. "Very worried. It got me thinking …." She paused to look him in the eye. "I'm not sure why, but I get the feeling she's hiding something."

"What makes you suspect that?"

"I'm not sure, exactly. It's just a feeling." She threw up her hands. "I can't explain it. But … her reaction was almost _too_ worried, too concerned, for it to be solely about her father."

Draco set his glass down and leaned back, thoughtful. "Children will go to unimaginable lengths for their parents," he said quietly. "Don't underestimate her fear."

"No, that's not it." She huffed lightly in frustration. "She was _too_ afraid. I don't know how to explain it. Anyway, I checked up on her and got the address on file with the school. I haven't had time to go, however. I'm hoping I'll have some time next week."

"You're going to do what, exactly?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Make sure she has a father? I've just got this feeling. The letters are simply addressed to 'Black'. That could be her."

"I don't think Rabastan would be interested in recruiting children," Draco supplied bitterly. "I was a … _special_ case."

"It's just a hunch. I hope to be proven wrong." Hermione finished her glass and set it down, tucking her legs under her as she snuggled closer to him.

Draco kissed the top of her head. "I hope so too."

"There's one more thing," she said, her tone nervous. "Your mother came to see me."

He stiffened immediately, and thoughts started firing in his mind. "What did she want?"

"She asked me to join her for lunch, but we ended up not eating anything. She only wanted to hear about you," Hermione replied, entwining her fingers with his. "She's concerned because you haven't responded to her letters."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've received at least one a day since last weekend. I'm tired of them."

"Have you read any of them?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. I'm not ready for that. Besides, I'm sure I know what they say. 'Come home, let's talk.' I'll go home when I'm ready."

"That's what I told her," Hermione said, gently rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand.

"What else did you tell her?" he asked, not really worried but unable to relax until he'd heard the full story.

She relayed everything that happened from when Narcissa knocked on her door to when she hurried from the pub. "The one thing she seemed most concerned about was me telling you that she—that _they_—love you. That everything they've done is for you and Cassie."

Draco scoffed. "Right. They can't possibly know what that word even means."

Hermione sighed. "I hope you won't be angry with me for saying this, but … I believe her. At least, I believe that she loves you, and that she believes she's doing her best for you. You might not agree with their tactics, but in her mind, this … mess … was all done for you."

He shook his head. "I can't ever accept that keeping this from me is for my own good."

"At least hear her out when the time comes," Hermione pressed.

"Perhaps," he grumbled.

Hermione reached up and tilted his face toward hers, capturing his lips in a tender kiss that soon set his blood on fire. The warmth and glow of the fire, the way she teased and tantalized with every swipe and caress of her tongue, the soft, whispered sounds she made as he threaded his fingers through her hair and held her head in place were almost enough to make him forget that they were snogging not twenty feet from where his little sister was sleeping.

Almost. He glanced at Cassie's prone form, noting that she was still slumbering, and he kissed Hermione until he thought he would burst from want. He nearly pushed it too far, but managed to pull himself back. He gave her three short kisses and then exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against hers.

"Draco …." she said, her voice shaky and her desires apparent.

It did nothing to help his resolve. "Cassie," he whispered.

Hermione nodded and sighed. After a few seconds, she jerked her head up, an idea sparkling in her eyes. "What if we—" she began, turning toward the bathroom.

"—An alerting charm, if she wakes?" he added, catching her meaning immediately.

"And a Silencing charm," she finished, grinning.

"Let's go." Draco didn't waste a second; he jumped up from the sofa, grabbed her hand, and pulled her, sniggering, into the bathroom.

**ooo**

Monday morning, Draco went for a walk in the crisp, cold air of almost-winter. He wrapped himself in his warmest cloak and scarf and set out down the Champs Elysees. He walked slowly, watching the people around him going into shops with great expectations and coming out with bright packages.

On his way back to the flat, he bought a cup of coffee at a café and sat huddled under a heater, sipping slowly and enjoying the atmosphere.

The weekend had been a success. Cassie got to meet Hermione, and the two got along very well. He had even been able to spend a few hours alone with Hermione, thanks to an unexpected bit of perception on Cassie's part. On Sunday afternoon, Cassie had expressed a desire to return to school early in order to study for a test. When she'd parted with them at the gates of the school, she'd hugged Draco and whispered "have fun", then winked as she waved goodbye.

Draco smirked. Fun, indeed.

They hadn't spent the entire evening in the bedroom, however. Not even in the flat. Draco had even taken Hermione to a very nice restaurant, after which they'd walked to the Eiffel Tower and found a bench, where they'd sat and watched the Tower sparkle three times before Hermione finally said she had to get back to school.

After his morning walk, Draco planned to go to Beauxbatons and stay there for a few nights as a special guest of Madame Maxine. She'd warmed to him considerably after receiving a letter from Narcissa asking her to allow Draco to visit Cassie as often as he wished.

Draco finished his drink and Transfigured two knuts into two, two-euro coins, smirking proudly as he tossed them on the table. Hermione probably wouldn't approve, but he wouldn't do it … much.

His walk back to the building was brisk, and he relished the feel of the cold air on his face. As soon as he entered the flat, however, he knew something was wrong. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he pulled his wand and moved slowly, cautiously into the main room.

A fire was roaring, and Lucius Malfoy sat in a chair, his hands bridged, watching Draco enter the room.

"Hello, Son," he drawled.

Draco scowled and returned his wand. "Father." The speed and intensity of his animosity startled him. As he undid the clasp of his cloak, he couldn't help but wonder at how this could be the same man that Cassie could so easily call 'Dad'. "What brings you here?" he bit out.

"Surely you can surmise," said Lucius evenly.

Draco crossed his arms and neared the fire, keeping a safe distance from his father. "Mother?" he ventured.

"She's very concerned about you," Lucius affirmed.

"You may give her a favorable report then," said Draco with a false lightness. "As you can see, I'm quite well."

"Don't be insolent. It's not concern for your health that plagues her," Lucius snapped. "She's taken to worrying herself into a panic because you haven't responded to her letters."

"You can hardly blame me," Draco retorted.

"I fear she'll make herself sick," Lucius growled.

"It's not my problem!" Draco shouted. His anger had been bubbling just under the surface ever since he laid eyes on his father, who was now trying to make Draco feel guilty. "She's done this to herself—you both have."

Lucius stood, his eyes blazing, jaw clenched. "She is your mother, and she deserves your respect, concern, and consideration."

"What do you want from me?" Draco cried, exasperated.

"I want you to talk to her," Lucius replied, calmly now that he thought he might get his way. "Come home and speak with her. Put her mind at ease."

Draco scowled and moved closer to the fire, letting the warmth penetrate his clothes all the way to his skin. "I doubt my words right now would soothe her."

"Then tell me you'll return soon so that I can pass along the message," Lucius insisted. "Draco, this is your mother."

_Some mother_, he thought. A mother who'd lied to, deceived, and hurt him … who'd betrayed him and everything that a mother should stand for.

When he made no reply, Lucius spoke. "Is there … anything I can do, give, or say to convince you to speak with her?" he asked quietly, examining his nails as though he made such offers every day.

Draco knew better. This was a chance to get anything from his father, and since he was already planning on returning to the Manor before the initiation, he could go back Friday night instead of Saturday to speak with his mother.

This was his chance …. He could ask for anything, no strings attached; he could demand up to half the business. He could even ask for the full truth; Lucius just might divulge it. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. A chance to gain whatever he wanted from his father.

Although several possibilities flashed through his mind, there was one thing Draco was sure he'd never get if he didn't ask for it now. The truth would out eventually; he would make sure of it. This other item could only be acquired while Lucius was vulnerable.

"If I agree to speak with her … you must do something for me," he said firmly.

Lucius nodded stiffly.

"I want you to … to accept Hermione. As my choice."

At this, Lucius bristled. "Your choice?" he repeated, disgustedly. "You've … decided then?"

"Not entirely," Draco admitted. "But I want no obstacles, just in case."

During his conversation with Hermione the previous weekend, Draco had realized a few things. First, the thought of her in that house she was buying with anyone but him had made his blood boil.

Then when they'd talked about marriage, he'd realized that he wasn't afraid of marrying _her_, as he'd previously concluded based on his adverse reactions to the thought. No, he'd realized he wanted her, but was scared to bring her into his family, to expose her to their poisonous brand of morality and judgment, to put her in the position of Malfoy matriarch.

None of those things would mesh with Hermione's goals, hopes, and dreams. She deserved so much more. Perhaps he could figure out a way to give it to her.

"Then why—" Lucius began.

Draco cut him off. "Because! She is important to me!"

Lucius quirked his lips in a snarl. "She is one of many, Draco."

"No, she isn't," he argued vehemently. "She's entirely unique."

"Do you love her?" Lucius asked, his eyes narrowed.

"I … I do." Inadvertently, Draco smiled. Saying the words aloud set something free inside him, and he suddenly felt … happy.

The admission had quite the opposite effect on Lucius, however. His entire expression went sour. He opened his mouth to speak, but Draco beat him to it.

"Father," he said calmly. "I am not asking you to like her, nor am I asking you to completely change your opinions of Muggle-borns. I'm asking …." He huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I am asking you to accept that she is with me. I don't want you sending other witches my way or interfering in our relationship."

Their eyes met. Lucius lifted his chin defiantly, as though daring Draco to call him out.

"I don't want you putting her down, not even when I'm not around," Draco continued. "I want you to be as polite as you possibly can whenever she's around. I want … I want you to respect my decision and accept her because of me. Because I choose her."

The hard lines disappeared, and Lucius seemed to deflate as he stared at Draco. "All right," he said quietly. "If you will agree to see your mother, I will meet your condition."

Draco fought against the rush of power that flowed through him, the rush of a much-desired and hard-fought win. Not that he'd been trying to get his father's acceptance, but it felt good to know that he had it now, unconditionally and irrevocably.

"I'll come home Friday evening," he said.

Lucius nodded, relief flitting across his features. "Thank you."

Draco blinked, surprised at his father's easy show of gratitude. "You're welcome."

Lucius retrieved his cloak from the chair and put it on. "Let's not tell your mother about our … agreement," he said snarkily, all traces of good humor gone. "I'd prefer she think you're coming to see her out of genuine concern."

A flare of anger blew through him, and Draco glared at his father. "Of course I care," he snapped. "I'm just not ready to see her. Or you, for that matter."

Lucius moved toward the fireplace and took a handful of Floo powder.

Draco shook his head, thoroughly annoyed, and turned his back to his father. He needed to collect his belongings before meeting Cassie.

"Draco," called Lucius.

He stopped and reluctantly faced his father.

Lucius' head was bowed, and he was fidgeting with something in his hand. "Your mother and I … want you to know that … we … we love you."

The man couldn't lift his head to meet Draco's bewildered stare as he said the words, but after a few lengthy moments of silence, he slowly raised his gazed. "And we're proud of you," he added, his voice strong.

A dozen emotions raged inside Draco, but he kept them in check in order to incline his head in acknowledgement. "I'll see you Friday," was all he could say.

Lucius nodded again and stepped into the fireplace, disappearing seconds later with a green flash.

Draco sat heavily in the chair opposite the one previously occupied by his father, thoughts of meeting Cassie completely gone. His parents, mostly his mother, had expressed their love for him in the past, but each occasion had been very expected: his birthdays, Christmas, on Platform 9 ¾, at greetings and goodbyes. Never before was it simply stated, and certainly not when there was any kind of tension between them.

More than the confession of love, however, was Lucius' statement of pride. It was a bittersweet feeling for Draco; for much of his life, he'd tried to make his father proud, only to fall short in almost every attempt. Quidditch, grades, even his sixth year task left his father shaking his head in disapproval. To hear it now, when he no longer deemed his father's approval as something desirable, made him sad. He loved his parents despite everything; they were his parents. But he'd long ago accepted that they'd never be close, never be friends.

Hearing Cassie talk about them only reopened that particular wound. They were close to her, it seemed, so why couldn't they be easy that way with him? Why now, when everyone knew that Draco knew about Cassie, couldn't Lucius share some of that fond regard with him? Was it simply that his relationship with Draco was fixed, unmovable, unchangeable?

Draco shook his head and pushed himself up; there was no point in dwelling on the past. He was more interested in his future, which immediately included his sister. Smiling, Draco gathered his things and Apparated to Beauxbatons.

**ooo**

By Friday afternoon, Draco was more than ready to return home—if only to put an end to the waiting. His holiday was greatly enjoyed and well-spent, but it was time to return to life. He ignored the fact that he didn't have work to return to and focused on his mission of discovering what Lucius was up to. It wasn't that he missed running the company, it had just been his entire life for so long he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

Draco had bade goodbye to his sister the night before, assuring her that he would do everything in his power to bring her home where she belonged. After she'd hugged him long and tight, she'd told him she loved him. It was a sentiment he'd easily returned.

It was all Draco could do to force himself to remain calm while he waited for his Portkey to activate. He'd chosen to travel via Portkey because the fireplace in the Paris flat was only connected to the Manor, and he didn't want to go straight there.

Breakfast had been tolerable, but he'd needed a brisk walk afterward to clear his head. He still didn't know what he would say to his mother, and he still wasn't quite ready to deal with her. The walk hadn't helped.

Lunch was somewhat more difficult, as he'd forced himself not to rush and swallow his food whole. The next two hours had seemed to creep by, but finally, three o'clock arrived. Draco was ready, standing with his shrunken bags, when the Portkey activated.

He arrived in the International Travel complex in London and was quickly ushered off his platform to allow for the next arrival. With time to kill, Draco then went to Diagon Alley and wasted a couple of hours on Christmas shopping for Cassie before heading to his next destination: the Potter's.

Ginny answered the door, astonishment on her face.

"Draco?" she asked, as though unable to believe he was really there.

He gave her a strained smile. "Mrs. Potter. I'm here to see your husband."

She blinked. "Is he expecting you?"

"No," he replied.

"Well, come in." Ginny opened the door to grant him entrance. "Harry's not home from school yet, but I expect him any minute. His last class ended at five."

"Thank you." Draco followed her through the house, stopping in the living room.

"You can wait here," she said. "Is there anything I can get you? Tea?"

"No, thank you," he said. The only thing he wanted was a stiff drink, but he didn't feel comfortable asking.

Ginny smirked. "Firewhisky?"

He stared at her, worried for a moment that she'd read his thoughts.

"Be right back," she said, before he had a chance to stop her. She returned moments later with a bottle and glass. "If you're here to see Harry," she began, filling the tumbler halfway, "I imagine you'd appreciate this."

Draco accepted the drink gratefully. "Thank you," he muttered, feeling ridiculous at saying nothing but those words since entering the home.

"No problem. Does Hermione know you're here?" Ginny asked, leaning on the door frame and glancing down the hall.

"Er, no," he replied. "I'll be seeing her later tonight."

Ginny smiled. "Good to hear."

The fireplace roared to lie, and Harry stepped out, a grin appearing on his face the instant he saw his wife.

"Ginny." He went to her and kissed her soundly.

Draco rolled his eyes and glanced away.

"Harry," she said quickly, before he could go much further. "You have a guest."

"Oh. Malfoy." Harry's tone was merely observant; he didn't seem the least bit surprised to see him standing in his living room on a Friday evening.

"Potter." Draco shook the wizard's hand.

"I'll be down the hall with James," Ginny said, leaving the two men alone.

"This is unexpected," said Harry, loosening his tie and undoing his cloak. "What brings you here?"

"I think you know," Draco quipped.

Their eyes met, and Harry didn't deny it. "What … exactly do you wish to discuss?"

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. "The box."

"May I?" Harry didn't wait for an answer before taking the firewhisky, Conjuring another glass, and pouring himself a drink. After polishing it off, he sighed. "There's not much to say."

"Why did my father leave it with you?" Draco asked, annoyed. He'd come to Harry, hoping to learn as much as he could before facing his parents, just in case. If the box had anything to do with Cassie, he wanted to know. "What's inside? What do you know about it?"

"I feel for you, mate," said Harry. "I'll tell you what I can, but it's not much. Your father gave me the box in case something happened to him in prison. I don't know what's in it. All I do know is that if he'd died, I was to give it to you and tell you to drink the purple potion."

"But … you must know _something _more, I know you do," Draco argued. "Why else would you have offered your friendship a few months ago? You told me I would need friends—why?" he demanded. "Tell me, Potter. If you meant what you said about being friends, tell me."

Harry shook his head. "That's not how it works, Malfoy. You can't secure friendship with information."

Draco scowled. "Then what was your offer?"

"_Friendship_," Harry repeated. "To be … there … when it all goes down. To talk, share, commiserate. Not to break my oaths and tell you things you aren't supposed to know yet. Friendship—relationships—aren't a means to an end. They are the end."

"There's no need to lecture me," Draco snapped. He was livid, though at what, he didn't exactly know. There was no reason to be angry at Harry; after all, he was only keeping his oaths, as he'd said. The anger likely stemmed from the situation, from not knowing and feeling as though he was missing something extremely important. He hadn't really expected anything substantial from Harry.

Draco sat heavily, feeling suddenly hopeless. "What bothers me most is that you seem to think I'll need a friend. Soon."

Harry shifted slightly. "You've got Hermione."

Draco nodded once. "That's true … but the point remains you offered your friendship because you knew something about my future, something that would potentially make me feel alone. That's … unsettling, to say the least."

Harry said nothing for a few moments. Draco decided he should leave, though he still wasn't quite ready to go home. He wanted his parents to be completely through with their evening meal before he spoke with them.

"I shou—" he began, just as Harry spoke too.

"Want to stay for dinner?"

Draco started in surprise. "Dinner?"

"Sure." Harry brushed his unruly hair out of his face. "That offer of friendship still stands, even though you have Hermione."

"Er …." Draco paused, every fiber of his being screaming that he should refuse. The idea of sitting in a confined space with Potter for a prescribed length of time was daunting. He'd accepted Weasley's dinner invitation much more easily, and he supposed the reason was circumstances. Alone, in Paris, attempting to avoid thinking about the situation with the money, Draco had welcomed the distraction.

Now, back in England, with Hermione a mere firecall away, he wasn't nearly as interested.

Thinking about Hermione brought on another memory, however. Ron's comment that she'd be happy about the gesture and show her, um, appreciation in the most delicious ways. Ron had been spot on, too. Dinner with the Potters was certain to land him in his witch's bed—not that he really thought she needed incentive.

Regardless, it would go a long way to showing Hermione that she was important to him, and that was certainly worth the potential discomfort.

"Dinner," Draco repeated, tasting the idea of the word.

Harry grinned. "Ginny!" he called.

The red-head soon appeared, her son on her hip. Harry kept his eyes trained on his guest, waiting.

Draco sighed heavily and nodded slightly, and Harry clapped him on the back.

"Set an extra plate for dinner, my love."

**ooo**

At quarter to nine, Draco excused himself from the Potter's home. The meal had been delicious and the company … interesting. Despite not really wanting to find anything about Potter likeable, Draco had accidentally enjoyed himself.

He walked down the lane in front of the Potter's at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to deal with his parents. In the week since seeing his father, he hadn't been able to think of anything nice to say, anything productive. All his questions and answers were snarky, rude, and disrespectful.

True, he had given his word, but that didn't mean he had to look forward to fulfilling it.

Draco Apparated to the grounds in front of the Manor and sighed. Only a few lights shone from inside the house, and he couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension. All around him was still, the waning moon shedding a pale, silver light over the darkness.

He could imagine his parents, sitting at the dining table, talking. Narcissa was most likely anxious for his arrival, and Lucius calmly reassuring her that he would be there. After all, he'd given Draco a priceless gift in exchange for his presence. Had they already discussed Christmas plans? Would they be making a trip to Paris for the holiday? Would he be invited?

As Draco stared unfocusedly at the ornate front door, something drifted through his field of vision. It happened again. Draco blinked and looked up to see hundreds of tiny spots of light falling toward him: snow. It was beautiful in the silent, silver night, and somehow, its presence calmed him. Nature, people, the world—everything kept moving, whether he existed or not. It was oddly comforting, knowing he didn't have enough power to change that.

With unexpected resolve, Draco finally entered his childhood home, feeling almost a stranger as he stepped into the wide halls. Light shone from the end of the main hall, originating from a room a few feet from the grand staircase. It was the perfect room in which to sit and wait for one's son while enjoying a slice of pudding after dinner. He took a deep breath and started in that direction.

Upon nearing the room, Draco heard muffled, strained voices, and when he was close enough to see in, he saw his mother on a settee and his father standing by a roaring fire. Narcissa sat ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap, a glass of wine and half-eaten dessert on the table beside her. Lucius was flipping through a small book, his movements agitated.

Draco stepped into the room and knocked on the frame.

Both Lucius and Narcissa whipped their heads around, slight annoyance on his father's face and relief on his mother's.

He gave them a saccharin grin and said, "Hello, Mother, Father. As you are not quite finished with your meal," he nodded at Narcissa's plate, "I'll be down in an hour. Oh, and Cassie sends her love."

Draco didn't wait for a response and turned on his heel toward the staircase. Emotions warred within him. Seeing his parents, together, brought back all of the feelings he'd been attempting to deal with over the past two weeks. Hurt, anger, and betrayal returned hot and sizzling to the surface.

"Draco!"

He froze and gritted his teeth before turning to face his mother. She stood just outside the door, clenching her hands and looking at him undecidedly.

He lifted an eyebrow in question, and she slowly walked to him, stiff and deliberate.

When she was but a foot from him, Narcissa stopped. She was shorter than him by a good six inches, and so she had to look up in order to meet his eyes. At first, she did nothing, just stared at him, tears filling her eyes.

Merlin help him, but he had only seen his mother cry on a few occasions, and each time he had been unable to maintain any kind of cold, aloof demeanor. Even now, despite everything, he felt his anger cracking. However, this only made him angrier, and he scowled.

"What do you—" he began.

She cut him off by throwing her arms around him, clinging to him, clutching at him as though he would run or disappear at any moment. "Draco, Draco," she repeated, constantly pulling him closer.

He tried to remain passive, but his heart wasn't made of lead, and he couldn't ignore his mother's weeping. Reluctantly, awkwardly, he returned her embrace, which only made her sob harder.

Draco held his mother, feeling increasingly confused at her display of emotion. He understood that she'd been concerned, but this seemed excessive. Perhaps he'd misjudged her.

"Mother," he said softly.

Narcissa's tears slowed, and after a few moments, she pulled away, looking up at him with a teary, hesitant smile. "I-I'm so glad to see you," she whispered. "I'm glad you're home in time for the holidays."

_Stay focused, stay angry_, he told himself. He needed to keep his feelings in line with his thoughts, with what he knew to be true. Emotions only made things messy, a lesson he had learned well from his father.

"The house is a bit … dreary," he said honestly.

"Yes," she agreed quickly, glancing around the hall. "I didn't want to decorate without you."

He sighed. "I'm here now; have at it." Draco started to walk away, but Narcissa grabbed him.

"May we talk?" she asked, her voice surprisingly strong.

"What about your pudding?"

"I'm finished," she replied. "Please?"

He nodded once and followed her through the house to a small, comfortable sitting room. Narcissa called for a cup of tea and offered Draco one.

"No, thank you," he replied. "I'll have something stronger." A quick perusal of the liquor produced his favorite brand of scotch, and he chuckled—nervous!—as he poured himself a drink. Merlin, he wasn't ready for this.

Narcissa sat across from him, sipping her tea, while Draco downed his drink. The burn was cathartic and he took a deep breath.

"Thank you for coming," she said quietly, not meeting his gaze.

He couldn't respond truthfully without giving away his agreement with Lucius, so he merely nodded.

"Do you have any questions?" she asked.

Draco sniffed and considered his words carefully. He had dozens of questions. "Most of my questions have either been answered by Cassie, or she's informed me that I'm not allowed to know the answer." Bitterness suffused every syllable.

Narcissa flinched as though wounded.

"On second thought …." Draco smirked wickedly. "Perhaps there is one thing you can answer."

"Anything," she said without hesitation, unfazed by his expression.

"What I don't understand," he said slowly, trailing his finger along the rim of his empty glass, "is why. Why didn't you raise her the way you raised me?"

Narcissa blinked, entirely taken off guard at his question. "I'm not sure what you mean, Draco."

"Cassie is a delightful, affectionate child, who couldn't hate an insect," he began, his voice rising in volume and intensity as he continued. "She doesn't comprehend prejudice against people different than her. She had no disdain for those you would have told me were my inferiors. She's been allowed to grow up unpoisoned—why?"

"You have to understand," Narcissa replied, "that our circumstances were very different with you and your sister. She grew up in France, away from us. It's only natural that she wouldn't be subject to the political atmosphere here."

"Political atmosphere?" he repeated, incredulously spiteful. "Is that what you call the Dark Lord's attempts at genocide?"

"What would you have me say?" she demanded. "That we messed up with you? That we should have allowed you to form your own opinions about the world? It's not so simple, son. We did the best we could with what we had, and though we weren't perfect, everything we did was for you."

Draco scoffed. "For me? Don't delude yourselves, Mother."

"We wanted the best possible world," she countered. "For you. The Dark Lord's ideals began in the political arena: gain control of the Ministry through traditional means, and we'd have our voice just like all the others. When he turned to violence …." She swallowed hard. "One cannot simply walk away, Draco. You know this."

"Fine, I'll grant you that," he conceded. "But that didn't mean you had to perpetuate his dogma at home."

Narcissa shook her head sadly. "Draco, your father and I have been through a great deal in our lives. I cannot apologize for our belief in blood purity; it was ingrained in us just as it was in you. Generations of witches and wizards have advocated it."

"That doesn't make it right," he growled.

"No," she agreed. "No it doesn't. People cannot change simply because they understand right from wrong. I have, and your father has done likewise, made a decision not to promote blood purity anymore. We didn't with Cassie. But the decision alone doesn't mean that we no longer struggle with it ourselves. Imagine an alcoholic. He knows the drink isn't good, but that doesn't always help him fight the urges."

He shook his head. "Then … why didn't I have a difficult time? I've long accepted that I'm not superior based solely on my blood."

Narcissa smiled, a hint of pride on the curve of her lips. "You do have my family's blood in you, Draco. My sister, Andromeda, refused to accept what she was told without seeing for herself. Your Hermione reminds me a lot of her. Meda completely rejected the notion of blood purity." She sighed forlornly. "Bella accepted what she was told because it allowed her to do what she wanted to do anyway: hate and hurt and kill."

Draco listened with rapt attention. His mother had never before shared so much at one time. He'd learned things about her a little bit at a time; now she was showing him all the puzzle pieces that formed who she was. Despite his feelings about the situation, this was a rare occurrence and something he wouldn't soon forget.

"And you?" he pressed.

Narcissa laughed daintily. "I … I made a choice. Because I was in love. I had the same information as Meda; we were once very close. But Lucius' beliefs were in line with everything I had been taught." She shrugged, almost apologetically. "It was easy."

"What about me?" Draco asked, curious what she thought about him. "How do you explain what happened with me? I … failed to absorb my parents' beliefs."

"I've given this a lot of thought, actually. For much of your childhood, you thrived on approval," she replied. "Especially from your father and me. But then he went to prison, and … you know what happened next. You joined the same cause that your parents did and were asked to grow up far too soon. The Dark Lord put you in a terrible position. Kill for the cause your parents chose, or else they would be killed by the cause they supported." She shook her head. "I can't even imagine what you went through."

He shrugged and looked away, unable to watch her staring intently at him. The conversation had taken a turn he didn't like, though by asking about himself, he was responsible for the shift.

"Draco, you are an exceptional young man, very intelligent, able to make decisions for yourself. I'm very proud of the person you've become." Narcissa's eyes were pleading with him for something, but he didn't know what she wanted.

"You're glad I turned my back on centuries of pureblood doctrine?" he asked, wanting to be precisely clear.

She nodded. "I am."

"And what about Father?" Draco sneered. "Has he accepted your new position as well? Or is he intent on throwing any eligible pure-blooded witch at my feet?"

Narcissa refolded her hands in her lap. "Lucius … only wants what's best for you. We both do."

"Ha!" Draco cried, unable to restrain himself. Despite the agreement with his father, he knew Lucius still wanted a 'proper' witch for him. "He wanted to rule beside Voldemort!" Even though seven years had passed and the man-beast was dead, Draco's scar twanged painfully at his use of the Dark Lord's name.

"No," said Narcissa firmly. "I've told you—you've heard stories. Once you join him, there's no leaving. We wanted the best life for you, and for a while, it seemed the Dark Lord could provide that. There was simply no possible way he could be defeated by a mere boy."

"Right up until the end, though, Father was trying to better his position in the Dark Lord's eyes," Draco argued vehemently. "When he wanted to turn in Potter, Weasley, Gr-Hermione when they were here, it was all for improved status!"

"Yes," she returned, just as heatedly. "Because we never imaged Harry could win! In that case, the Dark Lord would be victorious and instill his brand of government on the entire wizarding world! For _you_, Lucius wanted to ensure his place in that world."

Draco shook his head. The best thing a man could do for his son was protect him from the evils in the world, but Lucius hadn't done that. He'd introduced him to evil, encouraged it, and even worshipped it.

"Just as I can't imagine what you went through," she continued, calmly this time, "so too you cannot imagine what brought your father and me to the Dark Lord. Don't presume to understand, and please, don't judge us. We will extend the same courtesy to you."

Her statement was like a slap in the face, and he set his jaw and stared hard at the floor. For so long, he had harbored resentment toward his parents for their ideals that had landed them in the Dark Lord's service. He resented the way he'd been raised after realizing that the very people his father claimed to hate and wished to eradicate paid most of his bills and allowed for the very extravagant lifestyle he enjoyed. Hate, prejudice, superiority were king—second only to money.

However, just as he wouldn't want Hermione to judge him based on his past, when he had willingly and enthusiastically joined the group of witches and wizards who wanted to destroy her, he reluctantly acknowledged that his parents would like the same treatment. They were just two people, trying to make their way through the world, trying to make their corner of the world better than it was the day before. He could understand that, empathize even. Every day, the definition of 'better' changed, and so they had changed with it. Just like he had.

"He sent Isabella after me in Paris," Draco grumbled.

Narcissa laughed softly, the sound melodic and beautiful. He had always been enthralled by his mother's laugh, partly for its musical qualities, and partly because it was such a rare thing to hear.

"Lucius would prefer that you marry a pureblooded witch," she admitted. "He wants the best for you, and just because he can acknowledge that those of lesser blood can be tolerated, you are still his son. And the best is still pureblooded. However, he also knows exactly what to expect from such a witch. Your Hermione, for example, terrifies him."

Draco blinked, confused. "He's … afraid of her?"

"It's more that he's not sure what to do with her," Narcissa explained. "He feels … out of his element. Unsure of himself. You know how your father likes to be in control of a situation."

"I don't understand why. She's just like any other witch." He caught himself and laughed. "Well, no, she's unlike _any_ other witch. But just because she's Muggle-born doesn't mean she's not the same as you and me."

"Give him time," Narcissa said with a smile. "The more time he spends with her, I'm sure he'll come around."

"He tried to kill her, Mother," Draco remarked wryly. "I can't imagine she'll want to spend loads of time getting acquainted with him. The fact that she even came here, to this house, where Bella tortured her, and had dinner with a man who actively attempted to end her life …. She's a better person than I am."

She frowned now, her expression troubled. "I hadn't thought of it that way. She was just your girlfriend. But you're right—how awful! Poor thing."

They were quiet for a few moments, Draco gazing anywhere but at his mother.

"My goodness, how did we get on this topic?" she asked eventually.

"Cassie," he replied listlessly, not taking his eyes off the window, through which he could see the snow swirling much thicker than it had been when he arrived.

"Of course." She sighed. "May I ask how you found her?"

Draco dragged his head to the side to look at his mother. "I'm going to keep that answer to myself for now. Just as you will keep yours."

"Do you hate me?" she asked quietly, hesitantly.

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. "No, Mother, of course I don't hate you. I'm simply angry with you. Very angry."

"I'm glad," she murmured. "Your anger I can abide, but not your hate."

At that moment, Draco felt suddenly very heavy, as though he was wearing a ton of bricks around his neck. "I'm knackered," he said, stretching his long legs in front of him. "May I say goodnight?"

"One more thing," she rushed. "Cassie. What do you think of her? Do you like her?"

An image of his sister on the merry-go-round beside the Eiffel Tower, laughing from her purple hippopotamus, flashed in his mind, and he smiled. "I love her." He stood and grabbed his bottle of scotch, anxious for a moment alone to down another glass—or two. "Night, Mother."

She stopped him as his hand grasped the doorknob. "Draco!"

He huffed and slowly turned around. "Yes?"

Narcissa gracefully rose from her chair and approached him. "Thank you for coming home. I'm glad we could talk."

"Even though we didn't talk about Cassie?" he asked, amused.

She nodded. "You will understand all of this soon. I promise."

"Just not now," he retorted bitterly. "Some day. Right. Fine. Until then, don't expect me to … well, don't expect anything from me. I'll see you tomorrow."

Draco didn't wait to give her the chance to say anything else. He swung open the door and practically ran up the stairs to his room. He loved his mother, despite everything she had done, however, and so he glanced back at the top of the stairs to find her watching him, staring at him, memorizing him. As though he might soon disappear.

**ooo**

At three in the morning, Draco still couldn't sleep. He'd abandoned the bed in favor of his sofa, but that hadn't done the job, so he'd pulled a chair in front of the large window in his room so he could watch the snow fall.

It was thick on the ground now and showed no signs of slowing. He was tired, he knew it, but sleep was eluding him, so he went into the closet room to pour himself something to drink. His eyes first grazed his bed and the two pillows at its head, and then the fireplace, where a few hot coals still glowed.

A possible solution occurred to him, and he wasted no time in implementing it. Four strides, a handful of powder, and a spoken phrase later, he stepped through the Floo into Hermione's suite at Hogwarts. All the lights were off, and he crept silently into her bedroom.

She was fast asleep on her side, facing him, her wild, beautiful hair splayed on the pillow and the sheet behind her back. Merlin, she was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen, and watching her now, after admitting his feelings for her to his father, felt different somehow. He knew what he wanted his future to hold, knew that he needed her in it, and his heart felt near to bursting in his chest.

As he watched her, Draco yawned, exhaustion creeping into his bones. He went to the other side of the bed and crawled in, careful not to disturb her slumber. He lay on his side as well, staring at her back and trying to resist the urge to touch her.

When the temptation became too much, Draco reached for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her gently against him. Hermione made a few little noises but didn't wake and snuggled further into his embrace.

He smiled into her hair as he felt sleep fog the edges of his consciousness. As he drifted, he couldn't help but think that he was home.

**ooo**

**End Notes: **Thank you for reading! It is most appreciated. I apologize for the week-long delay. I probably won't be posting next Friday, August 14th, either, because I'll be out of town. Thanks to everyone who pointed out the full moon/new moon mistake. It's supposed to be new moon. I really appreciate the continued reviews! Thanks to my betas drcjsnider and pokeystar! Art for this chapter is by __vintagebomb of LJ. Music, as always, by inadaze22, and the music for chapter 28 is available as well.

*Note: The Eiffel Tower "sparkles" every hour on the hour for ten minutes at night.


	30. Paint the Seconds

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. Just writing for fun.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 30 - - Paint the Seconds**

**- - -**

When Hermione woke the next morning, she knew something was different. Her back was warm, and she could feel an arm draped over her. It only took a few seconds to recognize Draco's scarred forearm, and she let out a contented sigh.

Hermione tried to remember Draco coming into her room the night before, but she couldn't. He must have been extremely quiet, or she'd been deeply asleep.

Very carefully, Hermione tried to slide out from his limp embrace. When she neared the edge of the bed, Draco's grip around her tightened.

"Where do you think you're going?" he muttered, his voice gruff from sleep.

"I thought you were asleep," she replied, turning over to face him. "I'm hungry."

Draco smiled, his eyes closed, and pulled her close, breathing deeply. "You really ought to ward your Floo connection better. Anyone can get in, it would seem."

"Maybe I like strange men sneaking through in the middle of the night," she teased lightly, brushing a few long strands of hair out of his face.

He kissed her lightly on the lips, then snuggled even closer. "What time is it?"

Hermione glanced over Draco's body to the clock beside her bed. "Ten 'til nine."

Draco nodded and lay silent for a few moments. Then his eyes flew open. "Nine? Don't you need to go? To your parents?"

"No," she replied. "They had other plans this morning."

"Oh," he said, relaxing back against the pillows. "I thought you never missed a Saturday."

"Sometimes," she explained. "It doesn't happen often."

"Hmm …." He trailed off, a smirk slowly settling onto his features. "I get you all to myself today? Whatever shall we do?"

A delicious thrill raced down her spine at his tone, but she refused to give in entirely. She absolutely had to get some things done. She'd been so busy preparing her students for exams, providing additional help outside the classroom, and seeing to her other duties, that she hadn't done any holiday shopping.

"I need to go to Hogsmeade today," Hermione said as he kissed her, trailing his lips down her neck and sliding his hands down her frame.

"Mmm," he mumbled, slipping the strap of her nightgown off her shoulder. "Plenty of time for that. Later."

**ooo**

Two hours later, they were walking hand-in-hand through Hogsmeade, nearly oblivious to and certainly unconcerned with the looks and stares they were getting. Even the occasional flash didn't faze them.

"I can't believe they're still so interested in us," Hermione remarked.

Draco chuckled. "It has never failed to amaze me that they have nothing better to do."

"How did things go with your Mum?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't mind the question. Usually she let him bring things up, but her curiosity simply got the best of her.

He shrugged. "All right, I suppose. I knew she wasn't going to tell me what I wanted to know."

"What did you talk about?" she asked.

Draco frowned, lost in thought, and Hermione turned to admire the wares in the window of the Scrivenshaft's Quill Shoppe.

"I think she tried to explain the why of everything," he finally responded, after they'd walked a couple of blocks. "Why Cassie and I were raised differently. Though I'm not entirely sure what her point was."

Hermione didn't press him further. If he wished to expound, he would, and maybe it was too soon for that. He probably hadn't been able to fully digest what had happened yet.

"Have you settled things for your house?" he asked, adjusting his hand in hers.

"I met with the realtor," she replied. "The seller has agreed to my offer. We'll finalize everything after the New year, but I won't be able to officially move in until February."

"I see," he said absently.

"I'm thinking of getting a roommate," she added quickly, wanting to get this conversation over with in case he got angry.

"Oh?" he asked, an astonished look on his face.

Hermione nodded. "I won't be able to move in until after the school year ends, but I don't want the house to be empty the whole time."

"Who did you have in mind?" he asked, smiling.

"Well … Ron, actually."

The smile vanished, replaced by a scowl.

"He needs to get out of his parents' house," she continued. "He's lived there his entire life. I think it would be good for him."

"Weasley," Draco said, his tone laced with anger. "Can he even afford it?"

"Draco!" she snapped, stopping and giving him a scathing glare. "Ron makes very good money, and he's extremely generous with what he has. I'm very proud of him."

He stared ahead, and when he spoke, his tone was flat. "You want to live with Weasley?"

Hermione sighed. "Don't take it that way," she said gently, putting a hand on his arm.

"How would you like me to take it?" he asked brusquely.

"Ron is my friend—"

"An ex-boyfriend," he interjected.

"That was years ago!" she cried. "You can't possibly be worried about _Ron_!"

Draco scowled and stared at the ground, annoyed by her implication. He should be worried about Charlie. "No," he mumbled.

He didn't move or speak for a full minute, and when he looked at Hermione, she could tell he'd been scheming. There was something ridiculously adorable about his expression, but she braced herself nonetheless. She couldn't possibly hope to predict what would come out of his mouth next.

"Can you afford to have the house and pay for lodging at Hogwarts?" he asked.

"It will be tight," she replied, hesitantly, "but I've got it worked out."

"Then I have a proposition for you," he declared, all traces of jealousy or concern replaced with smug confidence.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?" she asked with a sigh, crossing her arms. "What is it?"

"No, you'll like it," he insisted, "and it will help you with the financial aspect of paying for two residences."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just tell me already."

"Since you won't be joining Weasley for another six months or so, maybe he should have a roommate until then." Draco smirked confidently. "And I happen to know just the person."

"Oh, really?" she said, raising an eyebrow and smiling despite herself.

He nodded, his expression slipping momentarily into one of uncertainty. "It's … me."

Hermione started in surprise. "You? You … want to live with Ron?"

"I think it's time I moved out of my parents' house, too," he said with half a smile. Then he looked at the ground and kicked at a clump of grass. With a shrug, he said, "I couldn't sleep there last night, and I don't see that changing any time soon. With my father back, it's time I got out. Moving to your house will mean I can do it quickly. I won't have to find a place on my own. Then I can … go from there."

"You cooked this plan up in just a few minutes?" she asked, truly impressed but not really surprised.

"Lots of practice." He smiled. "What do you say?"

She smiled coquettishly and tipped on her toes to kiss him. "It's fine with me," she replied. "It will be nice to have the monthly payments taken care of until I move in. The only question is …." She trailed off, toying with an idea in her mind. Surprisingly, it wasn't a terrifying or even scary idea; the more she played with the words, the more she liked the possibility.

"What?" he asked, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her close.

"Who do I kick out when I move in?" she said, lacing her arms around his neck.

Draco smirked and lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her leisurely, deliciously, in the middle of the snow-dusted street. When his tongue darted out to taste her lips, she sighed happily.

**ooo**

She'd wanted to be there, waiting for him, as she'd done the night he'd confronted his father. As he walked through the dark, silent house, Draco smiled. It was reassuring, somehow, to know she was there, that she would be waiting.

The day had flown. Draco and Hermione had spent most of it in Hogsmeade, shopping a little, but mostly just spending time together. There were moments when she'd smile, and he couldn't believe that there was a human being so wonderful who wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her. If he wasn't a wizard, he thought if would be enough to make him believe in magic.

Hours after first thinking it, the idea of living with Weasley didn't fill Draco with dread, as he'd thought it should. He couldn't deny that he somewhat liked Ron. He was easy-going, carefree, and laughed easily, almost the direct opposite of Draco's personality. It would probably do him good to be around Ron—though he would never, _ever_, admit to it, not even to Hermione.

When Draco reached the back door, he pulled the hood of his dark cloak down and checked the metal, silver glove he had donned on his right hand, the signal for Samaya's father. Satisfied he was ready, he Disapparated, appearing in the woods behind the property. He would approach the meeting place from the opposite direction, so no one would suspect who he was.

He tried not to think about what might happen, but that was all he could think about. Would there be … sacrifices? Would the Death Eaters kill a Muggle tonight? Or … worse?

Draco had seen a whole host of horrible things during Voldemort's reign, and at least two of his staunchest, most violent followers would be in attendance tonight, to say nothing of his own father. There was no way to predict what might occur, and he couldn't even begin to imagine what he was about to witness.

A twig snapped to his left, and Draco froze, pulling his wand and turning toward the sound. After a moment, he saw another hooded and cloaked figure emerge from the shadows.

The other man nodded once and resumed his path toward the meeting place. Draco followed the anonymous figure as quietly as possible, unable to think about anything. He concentrated on taking careful steps, wondering who it was that walked before him. Draco thought he must be someone experienced in Dark ways, because he moved confidently, purposefully, unlike Draco's nervous, anxious gait.

As they walked, more people joined them, though none of them passed Draco or the man in the lead.

When they finally reached the clearing, there was already a small group gathered around a fire. Those who had arrived with Draco headed toward the fire, but Draco stayed toward the back, inspecting everyone in attendance and hoping to learn something.

No one was talking to anyone else. Most of those present displayed nervous behavior, glancing around, fidgeting, but the man whom Draco had met in the woods stood still, staring directly ahead, his head held high and proud.

Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long. Two men soon arrived, and Draco immediately recognized them as his uncles. Rabastan was rocking slightly, muttering to himself, his dark eyes elated. Rodolphus was brooding, doing his best to go unnoticed despite standing beside his brother, whose antics were drawing looks.

When no one new showed for a few minutes, Draco started to really feel anxious. He flashed his right hand, encased in silver, hoping to draw Samaya's father's attention. No one moved.

A few more minutes passed, and then the confident man from the woods stepped forward and pulled off his hood. A chill of dread shot down Draco's spine as his father was revealed. Of course the man was Lucius; who else could be so sure of himself under these circumstances?

Draco shrunk back into the shadows as Lucius joined the Lestranges.

"Welcome, friends," he said, opening his arms as if to embrace the group. "I appreciate your show of good faith. By joining me here tonight, you encourage me, you tell me that you aren't satisfied with this new order in the Ministry, by all of this … tolerance."

A few people shifted in place, but no one spoke.

"I am here," Lucius continued boldly, "to continue the Dark Lord's work. His dream was to rid the world of those who would taint the magical bloodlines. His methods, however …." He trailed off, looking the crowd over.

Draco was holding his breath in anticipation of what his father would say next. Was he about to criticize the one man they'd all either followed or secretly wanted to follow?

When he spoke again, his tone was grave. "His methods were unsuccessful. The Dark Lord's focus shifted to total domination, but his initial plan would have worked. We need to go back to his initial plan."

Lucius was emphatic now, his passion for the message apparent. "We must become integrated into the system again; we must regain our voice. As it stands, muggle-lovers and blood-traitors are running everything. If our goal is the retention of purity in our world, we must achieve it surreptitiously. The Dark Lord's attempt to take it by force failed. Yet his dream still lives. It lives in our blood, and only we can see it through."

Someone nudged into Draco, and he moved slightly to give the newcomer room. He was a short man in plain black robes, and he cleared his throat slightly. Draco realized that this must be Samaya's father.

Lucius smiled magnanimously. "Friends. Our position is this: we work our way into the system, achieve positions of standing and respect in the community. Only then can we enact the changes we want. It's not as glorious, perhaps, as taking the world by force, but it will be more effective."

He took a breath and continued. "We'll sneak in under their noses, hide our true allegiances, our true loyalties, until we outnumber them where it counts. It will take time, yes, but we will be successful."

Muttered speech broke out among those gathered. Lucius waited patiently with Rabastan and Rodolphus flanking him.

After a few moments, someone called out. "What about your son?"

Draco's heart froze for an instant, and he sucked in a breath.

Lucius turned his head slowly in the direction of the voice. "What about my son?" Lucius asked evenly.

"He's a blood traitor himself," said the same person. "He's been fraternizing with a Mudblood. Everybody's seen it."

Murmurs of assent and support rippled through the small crowd. Rabastan's eyes flashed dangerously, and Draco decided he didn't want to come upon his craziest uncle alone in any dark alleys.

Lucius clenched his jaw. "My son …. A father can only do so much. Draco was raised the right way, with our values and priorities. He will not be dragged into this."

"Why should we follow you?" rose another voice. "Why should we agree to throw our lot in with you when your own son has turned against you?"

Again, the crowd seemed to be in agreement. Many of the people around Draco nodded.

"My wife," Lucius ground out. "She favors the boy; my hands are tied."

That seemed to gain some approval, and one or two men even laughed. Draco scowled, thankful for the hood that maintained his anonymity. He hadn't thought his parents could hurt him any more than they had, but he'd been wrong. Lucius' obvious disdain and disappointment still managed to slice him deeply.

"You don't have to agree tonight," Lucius said, slowly regarding the entire group. "Think about it. Consider my words." He pulled out a long, ornate knife with a black onyx on the hilt. With a swift, fluid motion, he sliced a cut in his palm without even flinching.

Rodolphus collected as much blood as he could in a vial while Rabastan started adding ingredients to a cauldron. Lucius then lit a fire under the pot, and the mixture immediately started sparking.

Draco recognized the potion. It was Dark magic, used to ensure loyalty. It was tradition that the leader of a group drank a vial of the potion to show his commitment to those who would be answering to him or her. It was something of an insurance policy for those considering joining the leader. If Lucius betrayed them, the potion would turn to poison and slowly and painfully kill him.

If Draco had been holding out any kind of hope that his father wasn't rejoining a group of Death Eaters, it died as he stared at the sparking potion.

Rodolphus added Lucius' blood to the cauldron, and it let off a stream of blue sparks. Rabastan dipped a vial into the potion, filling it nearly to the brim, and then handed it to Lucius.

He accepted it and looked over the crowd once more. "Join me. Let's make this world what we know it should be. We'll meet again in three nights." Then he held the vial up for all to see. "Cheers." With that, he drank.

A stone of dread settled in Draco's gut. The meeting broke up as several people rushed to speak with Lucius. Draco held back, watching in amazed disappointment. Shaking his head, he turned to Black and nodded once, hoping the man would get the message and follow him as he walked in the opposite direction of the Manor.

When they were safely out of earshot, Draco spoke. "What did you think of the show?"

Black didn't speak, and Draco's suspicion grew.

"Have you heard from your daughter recently? I've been told she's very bright."

There was still no response from his companion. Draco stopped, whirling around and grabbing Black's arm tightly. With a single motion, he twisted the arm behind Black's back, wrenching up until the man cried out in pain. Something was wrong.

"Stop, please." The pleading voice was decidedly feminine.

Draco pulled back the hood to reveal Samaya. He released her immediately, scoffing. "What do you think you're doing?" he snarled, turning the girl around to face him.

She was trembling and pale, terrified at what she'd just been through and of him. Draco had long ago decided he never wanted to see that kind of fear in another human being's eyes on his account again. He released the girl with an impatient sigh.

"Are you all right?" he asked gruffly.

Samaya nodded, still too afraid to speak.

"Come with me," Draco commanded, grabbing her arm once more but not as tightly this time. "I'm going to Apparate us somewhere we can talk."

She hesitated a long while before silently consenting, and seconds later, they appeared in Draco's bedroom.

He released Samaya and called for Hermione, who came rushing from the other room. Her eyes widened upon seeing her student, dressed in dark robes and shaking from head to foot.

Without a word, she crossed the room and wrapped the girl in an embrace. "You're okay," she repeated over and over.

Draco left the women alone, going to the sideboard and pouring himself a drink.

After a few moments, Draco turned back to them. Hermione nodded and gently led Samaya into the closet room and onto the sofa.

"What are you doing here?" she asked kindly. "Were you at the meeting?"

She nodded, swallowing hard. "I-I had to come. I had no choice."

"That's rubbish," Draco snapped. He was a mess after witnessing his father give his life over to yet another hopeless cause, and discovering a teenaged girl at the meeting had made him livid. "You could have gone to Hermione, or to me."

"Where is your father?" Hermione asked, sending Draco a scathing glare. 'Be nice,' she mouthed, and Draco only scowled deeper.

"Home," Samaya replied. "He's very ill—he couldn't make the trip. Even if he had, he can't stand. The illness has nearly run its course." Her voice broke at the end.

Hermione's expression became even more sympathetic, which Draco hadn't believed possible. She hugged Samaya again. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry. Why … are you here?"

Samaya sniffed, wiping at her eyes and looking at Draco. "You said to be here, to meet you here."

Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the mantle. "I told your _father_ to be here, a grown man, not a seventeen year-old girl."

"He couldn't come," Samaya argued. "So I had to. Rabastan threatened my entire family!"

"My crazy uncle had no idea who was there and who wasn't." He frowned, a strange thought entering the edge of his consciousness. Draco glanced at Hermione to find her watching him. None of the men in charge had taken any kind of roll, nor had any blood assurances been required. The absence of these antics puzzled him; how could they know who had been there and who hadn't? What was the point of organizing when you didn't know who was organized?

"He'll be writing again though," she insisted. "And now my father will have something to say."

Hermione turned to her student. "Samaya, I don't think you should be anywhere near these men. They're dangerous."

"Agreed," Draco grumbled. "I get the impression that Rabastan is more interested in simply intimidating people than following through." Then, more to himself, he added, "There were no offerings made, no blood shed … almost no Dark Magic at all. Not like any other meetings I've been to."

"Your father made it sound like he wants to do things differently," Samaya said.

Draco bit his tongue to keep from lashing out at the poor girl who didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his anger.

"It's late," said Hermione. "I think we should get you back to the castle." The girl nodded and followed Hermione to the fireplace. "Give me ten minutes," she said to Draco, then left with Samaya.

He watched the emerald flames fade and wondered if he really had to wait a full ten minutes before joining Hermione in her suite.

**ooo**

At half-past one, Draco knocked on the dark grey door of number 2 Tolliver Place. The house was set a good distance from the road, and as he waited, he glanced around the front stoop. It was neat and tidy for an outdoor space, much the way Caleb kept his desk.

A sensible rocker sat on Draco's left beside a small table. To his right, a few large pots held a variety of special herbs. It occurred to Draco that he'd never taken much time to get to know his personal assistant. He would have to remedy that in the near future.

The door opened, and Caleb stood with a thick book in one hand. He was impeccably dressed in trousers and button-down shirt, much the way he'd always dressed for work. Caleb blinked at the sight of his employer on his porch.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said, his tone surprised.

Draco smiled. "Morning, Caleb. How are you?"

"I-I'm just fine, thank you," Caleb replied. "Is there … was there … am I supposed to be somewhere?"

"No," he replied, chuckling. "I was hoping to have a word with you. It will only take a few minutes."

"Um, well …." Caleb turned around to look at something behind him, then shrugged. "I suppose. I've got a guest, though. Let me tell her."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "A guest? Brilliant. I shouldn't have just stopped by." He started backing away. "I'll come back later. How about tomorrow?"

"No," Caleb called, just as the door was opened by someone else on the inside.

Draco's jaw nearly dropped at the sight: Luna Lovegood in an over-sized T-shirt, her hair in wild disarray.

"Draco Malfoy," she said mystically. "Don't leave on my account." To Caleb she said, "I'll go and get dressed and bring you both some tea." Luna smiled and retreated into the house without another word.

Caleb's face was bright red, but Draco laughed. "Luna?" he inquired quizzically.

"I-she-we—" Caleb stuttered. "She's—"

"Say no more," Draco interrupted. "Really. I'm merely intrigued, that's all. May I come in?"

Caleb nodded sheepishly, then admitted Draco and led him into the living room. "I wish I'd known you were coming," he mumbled, fidgeting with knick-knacks on his bookshelves and straightening picture frames. "I would have picked up a bit."

Draco gazed around the room. Nothing seemed out of place, and he suspected that if he donned a white glove and then swiped a finger along the length of the mantle, not a speck of dust would mar its surface.

"I wouldn't have wanted to trouble you," he replied, amused.

"Tea," said Luna, entering the room carrying a tray. "I made the biscuits myself."

Draco eyes the plate of treats skeptically, trying to remember if Hermione had ever mentioned anything about Luna's cooking skills. Unable to recall anything, he chose the least interesting looking one—a square piece of shortbread with an image of a goat on it. Hesitantly, he nibbled on one corner, holding his breath until he concluded that nothing would happen.

Luna left the men alone after setting the tray on the coffee table.

"So, Mr. Malfoy," said Caleb, clearing his throat. "What brings you here?"

"You're dating Luna?" he asked, unable to stop himself. Hermione's curiosity seemed to be rubbing off on him; normally, he wouldn't give one whit about the romantic entanglements of his colleagues.

Caleb nodded, sipping quickly from his cup.

"How long has this been going on?" Draco wondered briefly if Hermione knew, then concluded she must not. She would have mentioned it if she did.

"Just after the meeting with the Weasleys," he replied. "When she was there. I … I went to the _Quibbler_ the next week to ask her to dinner, and she accepted."

"That's great." Draco smiled, genuinely pleased at the development. "She's … an interesting woman, to say the least."

Caleb seemed to relax. "She is. Though I'm afraid I was a bit taken with her before I knew a thing about her."

The statement reminded Draco of when he'd first seen Hermione, sitting on that horrendous orange sofa by the Quidditch field. He'd been a bit taken with her from the start as well, though it had been a while before he'd developed real feelings for her, longer until he'd admitted it to himself, and even longer before he'd done anything about it.

"Well, I've no idea what to say. Congratulations, I suppose." Draco sipped eagerly, surprised to find he was quite thirsty.

"Thank you," Caleb mumbled.

Draco sat up a little straighter. "How have you enjoyed your holiday?"

"Very well, sir," Caleb replied, glancing toward the stairs up which Luna had just disappeared. "Very relaxing."

"Don't call me 'sir,'" Draco admonished. "That's my father's title, now. As is 'Mr. Malfoy.' Just Draco, if you will."

Caleb nodded slowly, as though he wasn't sure he could comply. "I'll do my best."

"Thank you. I'm here to ask if you would still like to work for me," Draco stated. "It won't be quite the same position, of course, since I'm no longer the head of the company. The pay would remain the same, but the hours would likely decrease. As would the stress."

Caleb chuckled and seemed to finally relax. He sat back in the sofa and lifted his right leg onto his left. "What will you be doing?"

"I created a small division, mostly independent of what the rest of the company does," Draco explained. "I'll be heading that. It's research focuses on long-term spell and potion damage. It's been operating anonymously thus far, and on a small scale. Now that I've completed the transition from running the company, I'll be taking a more active role in what goes on there. I've given Hermione her own laboratory as well."

Caleb smiled at that. "How is Miss Granger?"

"She's doing well," Draco replied, knowing his assistant's extensive knowledge of his habits with women. Caleb had never seen Draco in a relationship. "I'm … rather happy."

"Doesn't she teach at Hogwarts?" Caleb asked.

Draco nodded. "I know that after this year, her duties to the school will decrease. I'm not entirely sure of her plans, but the lab is hers whenever she wants it. I want to restore my family's name to what it was before the Dark Lord's return, but in a good way. Not with bribes and threats; I want to be respected in the community." He chuckled wryly. "I may be fighting a losing battle."

"I don't think so," said Caleb. "I would be honored to work for you, Mr—Draco. To help you achieve that goal, however I can."

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "I would like to officially return to work after the New Year, but I'll be doing some rearranging, some organizing before then. I need to set up my new office in the complex—it's in Oxford, hidden from Muggles. There's some paperwork to be done, a board to establish …."

"It sounds like you've given this a lot of thought," Caleb remarked. "I'm sure it will be successful, as all your ventures have been."

"I certainly hope so," Draco said with a sigh.

**ooo**

_Draco—I have no idea where you are, no idea how to contact you. I need to talk to you. Please. –Pansy_

Draco stared at the note he'd picked up at the London office where he'd gone to meet with his father on business. He was standing outside the Parkinson estate, waiting for someone to answer his knock.

It took only a few moments for the door to open, slowly, revealing a very red-eyed Pansy.

"Draco!" she cried, throwing open the door and flinging her arms around him. Instantly, she started crying.

Draco was alarmed. By rule, Pansy didn't display extreme emotions unless they were calculated for her personal gain. This, however, seemed entirely too genuine. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Draco," she stammered between sobs. "I'm a horrible person."

"Let's go inside. Come on." She nodded and allowed him to support her through the house to a sitting room. "Is your mother here?" he asked, setting Pansy on the sofa.

"No," she whispered.

"What's happened?" Draco waited, but Pansy didn't reply, which was strange. She usually didn't need prompting to say what was in her head.

"Pansy? You're starting to worry me," he said, frowning.

"I … it's … Greg."

He almost didn't hear her. "Greg?" he repeated, confused for an instant before an awful weight settled in his gut in the form of suspicion. Narrowing his eyes, he said, "What do you mean?"

"I …. Oh, Draco!" she cried, fresh tears falling.

The sinking feeling got worse. "What happened?" Draco asked again, fighting to keep his voice controlled, to not say the first thing that entered his mind. She was upset enough; she didn't need him accusing her of anything. Yet.

Pansy's face fell, something he wouldn't have thought possible. "I-I went with Mother to a party over the weekend. In Belgium. Th-there was a man there, and I-I don't know wh-what I was thinking."

"What did you do?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"He flirted with me, I flirted back …." Pansy futilely wiped her eyes. "You know how these things go."

"Did you cheat on Greg?" he demanded, unable to temper his anger.

Pansy's lip trembled, and she looked away with renewed sobs. "I didn't. I stopped it. But …."

Draco blew out air, wanting to shake the woman sitting beside him. She was never satisfied with what she had, never content, always wanting more. He didn't think she knew how to be happy and had hoped that with Greg, she could learn.

"We were kissing," she continued, her voice stronger for some reason. "And … and I thought of Greg, and suddenly I didn't want to be there anymore. I don't know what I was thinking—I know I'd been drinking—but I knew I didn't want to hurt Greg. I knew it would kill me to hurt him. Draco."

She looked at him then, and he did his best to keep his expression neutral, despite still wanting to throttle her.

"I love him. I love Greg," she insisted vehemently. "I knew it before, but this really made me realize it. I felt it in my bones, Draco. I love him desperately."

He looked at her squarely, without sympathy. "Then you know what you have to do."

Pansy nodded. "I've already told him," she whispered, tears filling her eyes again.

Her admission surprised him, and for the first time since the weight sank in his gut, Draco felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. "You've told him?"

"Yeah." She blew her nose.

"What did he say?" It amazed Draco how quickly his anger had dissipated at her simple statement. Honest, heartfelt confessions simply weren't Pansy. And that made him hurt for her.

She shrugged, clenching her handkerchief. "He said … he doesn't want to see me again."

His heart sank. "Oh, Pansy. I'm so sorry." Draco moved to sit right beside her and drew her into his arms. She folded against him, shedding the new tears that had accumulated.

"I love him," she whispered. Then she laughed bitterly. "And the realization didn't hit me until that moment, when I made that decision. It's a horrible irony, isn't it?"

He didn't say anything. He was busy thinking about Greg, planning to go there later that night, hoping his friend was okay.

"Do you think he might reconsider?" Pansy asked, reluctant hope in her voice.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. Relationships weren't something he and Greg talked about. Greg had only told Draco of his feelings for Pansy a few months before, after liking the witch for over a year.

"I hope so," she murmured, settling against Draco's chest. "Have you ever … been tempted? To cheat on Hermione?"

Draco started in surprise, then frowned. "No, never."

"Really?" she asked. "Not even a tiny bit?"

"Why would I want to?" he asked. "Why would I risk what I have for something … fleeting? Something … lacking?"

Pansy sniffed. "Have you even had the opportunity?"

Draco thought about Isabella and Juliette. He scowled "Yes, I have."

"But you used to be quite the Don Juan," she remarked. "And women flock to you like flies to a mandrake. Don't those habits come back?"

Draco shook his head. "I think the difference between you and me is that for me, those women were a means to an end. They knew it; I never let any of them think otherwise. Their interest in me was irrelevant. When men show interest in you, it makes you feel good about yourself. I've always hated the way you wanted my attention, as though my affection alone made you worth something. All those other men … they treat you like they're doing you a favor with their attention. At least that's how it seems to me. You aren't worth something simply because someone cares about you or notices you. Pansy, you're better than that. You deserve more."

She was silent for a few moments, then sighed. "And I've gone and chased away the only man who's ever treated me differently. Maybe I don't deserve any better."

"Don't be absurd," Draco scoffed. "Of course you do—you're learning. That means something."

"Wonderful," she quipped sarcastically. "So the next time an amazing man like Greg comes along, I'll do better."

Draco sighed. "Don't give up on Greg yet. Give him some time."

"Will you talk to him?" she asked, pushing away from him and looking him in the eye. "Please? Oh, Draco, please?"

"I won't make any promises," he said warily.

"Thank you!" she cried, throwing her arms around him again and squeezing.

"Like I said, no promises," he replied, awkwardly patting her on the back.

Her answering smile indicated that she had complete confidence in him.

**ooo**

Draco was unable to see Greg that night, as he had dinner plans with Hermione, but went to his friend's home the following day.

It was snowing when Draco knocked on his friend's door.

Greg didn't seem surprised to see him. "I wondered when you'd show up," he said, sounding tired and rubbing his eyes.

Draco held up a bottle, then handed it to Greg. "I come bearing gifts. Just one, really."

"Firewhisky," said Greg.

"I thought it appropriate," he remarked with a smirk.

"Come in, then."

When they were settled in a dark, warm sitting room, Greg opened the bottle and poured them both a drink. "I take it you've talked to her?" he asked, swallowing half of the dark liquid in his glass.

Draco nodded. "But that's not why I'm here. Well, I'm here as a result of talking to her. Not because I talked to her." He chuckled, swirling his own decanter. "If that makes sense."

Greg shrugged. "Sure. So … how was she?"

Draco hesitated. For the first time since Pansy and Greg started dating, he truly believed she wanted it to work, for all the right reasons. He didn't want to interfere, but he wanted his friends to be happy.

"Honestly … she was a mess," Draco admitted.

Greg tried not to look too interested, but failed. "Oh?"

Draco hid a smile behind his glass. "Yes. She looked like she hadn't been sleeping well, if at all, and her eyes were red and puffy."

"She'd been crying?" Greg asked, surprised.

"She was a mess," Draco said simply.

"Wow." Greg's voice was a whisper, and his brow was furrowed. "I never would have thought."

Draco finished his glass and set it on the table beside his chair. "I'm saying this because you're my friend. I think she genuinely cares about you. I think she's sorry."

Greg shook his head. "I don't know what I was thinking. What do I have to offer a woman like her? What made me think I could keep her satisfied? I mean, it's Pansy. She doesn't exactly have a stellar reputation."

"Hey." Draco sent his friend a sharp look, then Summoned the bottle and refilled his glass. "Don't say anything you'll regret later."

The other man just muttered something under his breath as he polished off glass number two.

"Look, Greg." Draco paused, still unsure of what to say. All he knew was that just like he'd wanted Pansy to give Greg a chance, he wanted Greg to give her another one. "I've known Pansy a long time, and I have never seen her so genuinely upset. She's hurting because she hurt you. I hope you won't write her off without giving it further thought."

Greg let out a long breath. "What would you do? What if you were me?"

"What would I do about Pansy?" Draco attempted to clarify.

"Imagine it's you. And Hermione tells you she's kissed some bloke, but she's really, really sorry about it and hopes you'll forgive her." Greg didn't attempt to hide the bitterness in his voice.

Draco started to say something trite, something pithy, but he froze with his mouth just open. The very thing Greg described had, in fact, happened, though at the time, they hadn't been dating.

He could picture the conversation in his mind, the way she'd looked, they way her hair had been tossed up on her head haphazardly, loose strands sticking every which way. She had told him about kissing Charlie the night she had gone with him to his awards banquet, had confessed that she'd nearly slept with her former lover. Draco had been hurt and livid, even though their relationship had been strictly for appearances. He couldn't imagine what would happen if she came to him now with a similar confession.

A harsh judgment nearly escaped his lips, but then he remembered Pansy and sighed. "I would be understandably incensed. I … tend not to be the most forgiving man. That said, if Hermione had come to me the way I saw Pansy yesterday, and considering the way I feel about Hermione … I think I would give her another chance."

Greg blinked, his eyebrows lifting in astonishment. "Really? You-you wouldn't cut her out of your life?"

There was no way he could possibly predict what he might do in such a heinous scenario, but he abhorred the idea of losing Hermione completely. He shook his head. "Right now, I'm not sure I could if I wanted to."

"You love her, then?" Greg asked.

Draco stared at the glass in his hand. It didn't seem fair to tell a lot of people before he told Hermione. His father was one thing, but even though Draco considered Greg his closest friend, he still wanted to tell Hermione before anyone else.

Greg noticed Draco's reticence and waved him off. "Never mind. Doesn't matter. The truth is, I thought I was in love with Pansy before we got together. Imagine that?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Once we started dating, I really thought I was in love with her. But the more time we've spent together …. Well, that love has changed. It's still love, but it's deeper." Greg scratched his head, then roughed his hair. "I don't know."

"I understand," said Draco quietly. "The more you know, the more there is to appreciate."

"Exactly!" Greg nodded emphatically and poured another serving of the firewhisky. "Exactly," he repeated, more to the glass he had raised to his lips than to Draco.

Greg's expression turned thoughtful, and Draco decided he'd completed his mission. He clapped his hand on the armrest and pushed out of the chair. "I've got to go, mate."

Greg nodded. "Thanks for stopping by. I do appreciate it. Mostly the alcohol, really."

Draco chuckled. "Any time. Good luck, whatever you decide. Let me know."

"Sure, sure. Thanks again."

From Greg's house, Draco Apparated to the Manor. A glance at the clock told him that two hours remained before the next meeting was scheduled to begin.

Draco yawned, then smirked at a thought. If the Ministry had wanted to know who was a Death Eater, all they'd really needed to do was observe people in their workplaces. The exhausted ones probably had a late and stressful meeting the night before.

For the most part, Lucius and Narcissa had left Draco alone since his return from Paris. They made idle small talk at meals, but that was it. They knew he was still upset about Cassie, they weren't ready to tell him anything, and he wasn't interested in talking to them about anything else.

Tonight, though … tonight he would confront his father. Draco saw no reason to delay; perhaps he could talk his father out of his course of action before he got in too deep.

When the time came, Draco made his way to the meeting shrouded in black, a sense of doom in his gut. He was certain that Lucius' reaction to his attendance would be bad at best.

Dark figures, significantly more in number than the previous meeting, surrounded an unnatural fire of black flames that emitted little light but plenty of warmth. Lucius was really putting on a show tonight, and once he arrived, wasted no time in addressing the assembly.

"Welcome, friends," he called, a smug smirk on his face. "I'm honored by your attendance, by your faith in me. You've had time to think, I trust, time to speak with me about any concerns you might have."

That alarmed Draco; had there been a parade of potential Death Eaters through his home since Saturday night? He hadn't been home much, and had spent his nights with Hermione, so he probably wouldn't have seen anyone anyway. Judging by the way the crowd had reacted when an unknown attendee had mentioned his name at the last meeting, he was probably lucky not to have encountered anyone.

"Tonight, I require a pledge," Lucius continued grandly. "A show of good faith. If you believe in me, in this good we can do together, I must take your blood. You must not delay in your decision; we have work to do, and time is precious. If you have decided to join us, then we'll begin the collection in a few moments. But remember: if you are not for us, we are against you."

Lucius paused to let the weight of his words sink in.

Despite the nature of what his father was doing, Draco couldn't help but be impressed by his methods. He'd always known Lucius had the ability to wield power, to sway a room to his whim, but under the Dark Lord, he hadn't been needed in such a capacity. He'd been merely a disposable lackey. Near the end of the war, Lucius's primary concern had been for his family—anything to regain a modicum of honor.

Seeing him captivate his audience, Draco felt strangely proud to be his father's son. But only until an image of Cassie popped into his head. With a scowl, Draco wondered what would have happened if, instead of trying to reestablish a social and political hierarchy based on blood, Lucius had turned his talents toward rebuilding his name. Draco might be able to walk through Diagon Alley without receiving death glares, and Narcissa might be openly welcomed back to some of her favorite shops in England.

"After tonight, we must begin our work." Lucius stood relaxed and comfortable before the crowd, as though he was conducting a seminar on the proper way to hold a wand and not holding council over a group of terrifying people. "Bring everyone of like mind to the next gathering, which will take place in three nights. Now, we'll begin to receive your tokens. Those of you still unsure, I hope to see you in three nights. Think hard; consider the alternative. We can do great things together."

Lucius's gaze swept slowly over the crowd before finally resting on Rodolphus. Draco's uncle nodded and produced an intricately carved dagger, which he presented to Lucius. The blade was black, and Draco didn't need to be closer to know that it was saturated with Dark magic.

With great ceremony, Lucius accepted the blade, then held up both hands, the life in his left. For all to see, Lucius pricked a finger on his right hand, and Rodolphus collected the blood in a small vial. Then Lucius Conjured a chair and sat regally, bridging his hands in front of his face.

"We'll begin now," he said calmly.

At first no one moved. Then Rodolphus took the knife and collected his own sample of blood.

Rabastan stared hungrily at the dagger and snatched it from his brother, slicing his palm longer and deeper than either Lucius or Rodolphus had. As Draco watched, disgusted, Rabastan's face twisted in pain and pleasure at the blood pooling in his hand. Then he tilted his hand, allowing the blood to drip into a waiting vial.

Draco shuddered in disgust as Rabastan licked the knife clean.

That act, however, seemed to work as a catalyst for the crowd. A solemn line formed, and the knife was passed from one anonymous figure to the next. Rodolphus walked down the line, collecting the samples of blood.

Most of the gathered remained, but not all. Draco hung toward the back, as though undecided.

Finally, when all the doubters had gone and the line contained only three men, Draco moved behind the last, ready to confront his father. He was nervous about doing it with his uncles as audience, but he something deep in his gut told him that his father wouldn't let any harm come to him—physical harm, at least.

When Draco was one man away, Lucius paused the proceedings and sent Rabastan and Rodolphus back to the Manor. They left without question. Then Lucius collected the blood from the last man, who then handed Draco the knife and disappeared into the woods. Neither Malfoy moved or spoke until they heard the sound of Disapparation.

Undeterred by his father's strange actions, Draco lowered his hood. Here was the moment he'd been waiting for, when he could call his father the liar that he was and confront him about Rodolphus.

Draco stared in silent challenge at Luicus. "Hello, Father."

**ooo**

**End Notes:** Chapter title taken from a song of the same name by Chevelle (thanks to inadaze22!). Artwork for this chapter was done by one of my fabulous betas, drcjsnider! It's such a treat to have art from someone who has helped this story be what it is. THANK YOU! Beta thanks to drcjsnider and pokeystar. Awesome playlist by inadaze22, as always!

Thank you for your patience. I can't believe only 6 chapters remain! And yes, you read that right. "Heavy" will now be 36 chapters instead of the 35 I'd said before. I simply couldn't get it all worked out in 35. I hope that's all right! I've got all but the last 2 chapters written, and I really hope to get them done in the next week or so. I HAVE to get them done because I have other writing obligations that are coming up. Eke! Wish me luck!


	31. Truth and Trust

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. Just writing for fun.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 31 - - Truth and Trust**

**- - -**

If Lucius was surprised by Draco's revelation, he didn't show it. In fact, his only reaction was to sigh wearily.

"Draco, why are you here?"

Deflated somewhat, Draco hesitated. "I could ask you the same thing, Father, considering you told me months ago that you wanted nothing to do with this sort of thing."

Lucius' expression remained impassive, but his voice was tired when he responded. "Now is not the time for this discussion. All will be made clear—"

"No!" Draco interrupted, furious. "I will not be put off any longer! You owe me an explanation, if not for Cassie, then for why you lied to me in August!"

Lucius' mask slipped a little, betraying reluctance, frustration, pride, and fear—an odd combination. He sighed heavily, as though Draco's request was taxing to his very core.

"I suppose … you are here, after all, and so you must know something. Tell me, how did you learn about this gathering?"

Draco shook his head. "I will tell you that after I hear your explanation. Not before."

Lucius chuckled lightly, then looked sternly at his son. After a few moments, he spoke. "You have two options, the first being that you leave this matter alone. There is a very good reason why you haven't been informed about my actions. It has been for your protection." He paused to rub his temples. "You will eventually learn the truth, but I do not know when."

Draco heard the words but he couldn't appreciate their meaning. He failed to see how anything that Lucius had done since his release from prison was for Draco's 'protection.' "And the other option?" he quipped.

"I will tell you everything," said Lucius carefully. "But you must agree to help me in whatever way I deem necessary. No questions asked, and no backing out once I've told you."

Draco almost immediately demanded that his father tell him everything, but he stopped himself. "What do you mean, 'help you?'"

"I cannot answer that at this time," Lucius remarked impatiently. "You have a decision to make first."

Something felt … off. Draco recognized it now the way he had when he'd told his father about Rodolphus. There was more going on than he knew, and it frustrated him that yet again, Lucius seemed to have the upper hand.

Briefly, he considered consulting Hermione, but quickly dismissed the thought. Though her advice would be thoughtful, in the end, she'd tell him it was his decision.

He could either learn the entire truth now and promise to assist his father, or learn the truth later, once everything was 'over'—and he definitely felt as though something was drawing to its conclusion. The thought of joining with Lucius, Rabastan, and Rodolphus in resurrecting the Death Eaters was beyond loathsome, but perhaps he could get out of that situation if he was very careful.

After all the time and energy he'd spent to get this far, Draco knew the answer he'd give. Still, he gave the alternative and consequences a little thought.

"Tell me everything," he said emphatically.

Lucius nodded indifferently, as though he'd expected Draco's decision. "Let's go somewhere more conducive to conversation. The office."

"Don't skip out on this," Draco warned.

"I won't." Lucius smirked amusedly. "I'll meet you there."

Draco Apparated before his father and arrived in his bedroom. There he stripped off his outer layers as he hurried toward the door. In less than a minute, he was standing outside the office, his fist raised in preparation to knock. He hesitated only an instant as his nerves pulsed with tension and anticipation. The moment was finally here.

"Enter," said Lucius.

Draco hadn't been in the office since handing everything back to his father. He entered slowly, unsurprised to see that nothing had changed; he hadn't made any alterations during the seven years he'd used the space. It had retained the character Lucius had given it and would until Draco took over for good.

"I suggest you sit," Lucius quipped, waving toward the sofa. He appeared entirely at ease as he lounged in the chair behind the desk. He bridged his fingers, deep in thought. "Where to begin, where to start …. The beginning, I suppose. Have you ever wondered why I received the sentence I did?"

Draco stared in surprise. Whatever he had imagined, it certainly hadn't expected the conversation to begin like this. "I … always thought that Potter's testimony for Mother and I was extended to you."

Lucius nodded. "I'm sure the Ministry appreciated that theory, as it didn't draw excessive questions from the public. The truth … Son …. The truth is …." The elder Malfoy paused as though collecting himself. "The truth is, I made a deal with the Ministry. I received a reduced sentence in exchange for my assistance in apprehending the remaining Death Eaters."

The fire cracked in the hearth as Draco stared at his father, unable to and uninterested in masking his astonishment. "What?" He'd been expecting Lucius to admit to planning to overthrow the Ministry, not that he was working _with_ the Ministry.

"Think about it. Seven years? For what I'd done?" Lucius scoffed. "I never should have seen the outside of the prison walls again. I recognize this; I know the fate prescribed me by the law. So when Arthur Weasley approached me with this opportunity, I had to take it."

"You're working to capture the Death Eaters who were never caught," Draco repeated slowly, unable to accept his father's words so easily.

"Yes," Lucius affirmed simply.

Draco shook his head in bewilderment. "How?"

"The planning for this operation has been going on for these seven years," Lucius began, leaning back and propping one leg on the other. "As you may or may not know, none of the Dark Lord's followers knew the identities of every other follower. The Dark Lord did this to protect himself and his organization. Therefore, the Ministry did not have a complete list seven years ago."

"Then how did they compile one?" Draco asked. He was so stunned by his father's revelation that he'd put all other thoughts and emotions to the side in order to focus on Lucius' story.

"A clever bit of magic, if I may say so, involving the Dark Mark." As he said it, Lucius unconsciously rubbed his arm. "During my imprisonment, someone—I suspect your girlfriend was involved, if not entirely responsible—developed a way to detect all of the Marks in existence through the tracing of the residue of a certain spell used to create the Mark. Though the Mark is severely damaged, it is still quite present."

As though on cue, his arm throbbed for an instant.

"By sending a pulse through a volunteer—that would be me—the progress of the pulse could be tracked. Every time it jumped, there was a lull in the transmission. The number of jumps corresponded to the number of Death Eaters, and thus a count was determined."

"Fascinating." Draco remembered that Hermione was highly involved in research after the war and had no doubt that the idea was hers. The method was similar to the one he had copied from her in his sixth year for communicating with Rosmerta. "Exactly how many Death Eaters are there?"

Lucius took a deep breath. "There were nearly one hundred-fifty in all by the final battle."

Draco's eyes widened. "That many?"

Lucius nodded gravely. "A few less than a hundred—including you and me—were either killed, captured, or turned themselves in. In the seven years since the war, about twelve have been found. The Ministry is still looking for forty-seven elusive Death Eaters."

"It's incredible they've managed to avoid capture for this long," Draco remarked. "I suppose this technique isn't useful for locating them, or it would have been done already. What exactly are you doing then?"

"We can detect the Dark Mark under specific conditions," Lucius continued, "which is the purpose of these … meetings. The Ministry has erected a ward around the meeting area. Once we begin, I cast a spell that jumps through the Marks only within the ward. The goal is to continue the meetings until all forty-seven missing Death Eaters are here. Once that happens, I will alert the Aurors on call, and they will raid the grounds."

"Aren't you worried someone will detect the ward?" Draco asked.

Lucius chuckled. "No. The Department of Mysteries assured me that the ward won't activate until I cast the spell. Even then, it's supposedly a new, cutting edge ward that is undetectable with the current available methods. Unless someone knew to look for it, they wouldn't find it."

Draco still couldn't quite grasp the fact that his father was actually working for the Ministry. It certainly explained Arthur Weasley's presence the day Lucius was released from prison. Still … the very thought was almost … laughable. Lucius Malfoy working on the side of those he'd once fought to destroy. What could possibly motivate him to essentially betray everyone he had once worked beside?

"Why?" Draco asked, peering skeptically at his father. "Why would you do this?"

"I've been saying it all along." Lucius' tone was patient, almost kind. "Protection, for you and your sister."

"For my … protection." Draco gave up trying to understand his father. "I don't understand."

Lucius' patience was short-lived, and he huffed. "I am attempting to make the country a safe place for my family. Have you not wondered why your sister yet remains in France?"

"Of course I've wondered," Draco snapped. "However, no one is inclined to discuss it with me, Cassie included."

"Did you think us simply cruel?" Lucius accused. "Leaving her there for no good reason?"

"I—" Draco stopped, frustrated and unsure. In all his musings on the subject, he'd never stopped to consider the situation in a positive light, to think there could be a _good_ reason for keeping Cassie away. Though, he hadn't been able to come up with any acceptable reasons for Cassie's forced estrangement. "Why _is_ she still there?"

Lucius' expression momentarily softened. "Your mother and I have our reasons."

"What are those reasons?" Draco was annoyed at having to ask the question.

"That is for another time. Our motives are outside the scope of this discussion."

"How can you say that?" Draco bounded off the sofa to point accusingly as his father. "You are working for the Ministry—so you say—going against everything you've ever said or believed before! Your motives are central to this discussion!"

"It is enough," roared Lucius, "for you to know that I am doing this—_all_ of this—for you! For Cassie! Those particulars will be left for another day."

Draco was livid as he paced in front of the large desk. "You said you would tell me everything."

"Pertaining to what happened tonight," Lucius agreed with an air of finality.

Draco knew from experience that no matter how much or how violently he raged, Lucius wouldn't budge. He scowled and paced a few more times before returning to the sofa and sitting in a huff.

Lucius waited silently while Draco attempted to force his thoughts in a direction where he had a chance of getting answers. It took a few minutes because his anger kept flaring. Finally, it was only mildly bubbling beneath the surface.

"What else do you get for helping the Ministry, besides the reduced prison time?" Draco asked.

"Freedom," Lucius replied easily. "To live without fear of reprisal for my past actions. Once all the Death Eaters are captured, I can rest at ease knowing my family is safe."

"What about Rodolphus?" he gritted out.

"What about him?" Lucius asked flatly.

"I have to assume that he's working with you. He blackmailed me for seven years, and you did nothing about it but yell at him, maybe frighten him a bit." Draco's tone was bitter and accusing, and he was reminded afresh that his father had known about the blackmailing and had approved it.

"Rodolphus … yes," Lucius admitted. "I couldn't do this on my own."

"He must be one of the forty-seven remaining. Will you be offering him up to the Aurors too? How about Rabastan?"

"Rabastan does not know."

Draco couldn't decipher the look on Lucius' face. "Does that bother you?"

Lucius smirked. "Quite the contrary, especially after seeing those pictures Rodolphus sent you."

Heat and color suffused Draco's cheeks at the memory, and he closed his eyes tightly, trying to force the images away. "How can you stand to look at him, knowing what he did?"

"I do what I must." Lucius stood and went to the French doors that opened onto the balcony. "I'd always suspected your mother of … infidelity. There was a time when our marriage was little more than a sham. I was far from faithful myself. But then you came along, and we resolved to make it work. I fell in love with her all over again."

He turned abruptly to face Draco. "However, I won't be sad to see him punished. He's … mad, to be frank. He really ought to be locked away."

"And Rodolphus?" Draco pressed.

"He … is ill. Very ill. He's been told he has only three months to live—three painful, horrible months."

Part of Draco cheered at the news. "Really?"

"Yes. He contracted the disease through exposure during the course of his duties for the Dark Lord." Lucius rested his hands on the back of the chair. "In exchange for his cooperation, the Ministry has agreed to let him die outside of Azkaban. He'll be allowed to end his days in whatever way he sees fit."

"Interesting," mused Draco. "Rodolphus knows, but Rabastan does not. He has no qualms about betraying his brother?"

"Let's just say that your mother wasn't the only Black who succumbed to his advances."

"Bellatrix," Draco concluded.

"Indeed. The three of them did things together that make me shudder to recall them." Lucius grimaced, then continued. "Your mother was by far the brightest jewel in her family."

Draco didn't want anything to do with such a line of thinking. "So this is it, then? You're working for the Ministry to catch Death Eaters. What exactly would you have me do to help, since that was part of our agreement?"

Lucius returned to his seat, his expression relieved at the change of subject. "You will do nothing. Do not return to the meetings, and stay away from anyone else involved. I don't want there to be even the minutest chance that blame can be cast on you. I want you ignorant of all these proceedings—that's why you weren't told in the first place."

"You want me to do … nothing."

"If something goes wrong, if the scheme is discovered, I and I alone will suffer the consequences," Lucius asserted. "You will have no knowledge of the conspiracy. At least, that was my wish. Now … well, I don't want you to risk being seen by the others. Besides, your Mark will throw off my count."

Draco nodded once. "All right. I'll stay away. You have my word."

Lucius relaxed significantly. "Thank you."

"But you'll tell me about Cassie as soon as this is all over." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a threat.

"Of course."

Draco stood to leave and had taken two steps toward the door when he stopped. "Father, there is … one more thing."

"What is it?" Lucius closed the curtains and was preparing to leave the room.

"At the last meeting, someone mentioned my name."

Lucius stiffened. "I said what had to be said. I don't want you in any danger, son."

"Are you disappointed in me?" Draco hadn't intended to bring this up, though it had been bothering him ever since that night. The question formed and asked itself before he could really think about it. "For anything?" _For Hermione?_

"No," replied Lucius without hesitation. "The direct opposite is true—I am proud of you. More than I ever thought possible."

"I wish you could be happy with my choice," he said quietly, turning his back to his father. "I'm sure that disappoints you, if nothing else does."

"Draco …." Lucius trailed off. "You must consider the world I imagined for you upon your birth. The Dark Lord was in power and gaining more influence every day. I saw nothing before you but endless possibility, a high position in the new order. My hopes for your life were … grand, including your attachment to a witch of good standing. I wanted more for you than I had, a natural inclination for any parent."

He paused, pulled out a bottle of scotch, and poured a serving for them both. He held one glass out to Draco and, once it was accepted, continued.

"You will recall that my relationship with your mother at the time of your birth was not ideal. I wanted more for you."

"To marry for love?" Draco challenged.

"Yes, if possible," Lucius affirmed.

Draco regarded the untouched liquid in his cup, swirling it before raising it to his lips. He took a small sip, savoring the taste and feel of the liquid as it burned on its way down. "But only if I happen to love a woman you approve of." He set the glass on the desk with a clunk.

"I refuse to apologize for wanting what is best for you." Lucius fingered the rim of his glass, then took a swallow. "It is … unsurprising that I wouldn't know what that best might be."

Draco started to speak but Lucius held up his hand. "Son. I have agreed to accept, at least academically, your relationship with the girl. I am not sure what more you want."

"I would like your support." The admission was grudging, but true. Draco's opinion of and feelings toward his father had been significantly changed at his explanation of the night's events. Good or bad, he wanted his parents—not to mention his sister—in his life. Yet, he simply couldn't imagine family gatherings as pleasant as those he'd witnessed at the Weasleys. In fact, he couldn't picture Hermione ever being at ease with his father, or him with her.

"Let's take this one step at a time," said Lucius cautiously.

The man's patronizing tone grated on Draco's last nerve, and he was anxious to quit his father's presence. "If that's all you can give, that's all you can give." He turned to leave again, and Lucius called him back. "What?" he snapped.

"The … argument we had just before I was arrested."

Draco froze. "I thought we agreed to leave the past in the past."

"We did," Lucius agreed. "However, I would like to say … I was wrong."

"Well spotted," Draco spat angrily. "You tried to force me into marriage with a witch I'd never met, and when I refused, you threatened to disown me! I was eighteen! The war had just ended, you were about to be sent to prison, and the business was about to be unceremoniously dumped in my lap. The demand was nonsensical at best!"

"I know. As I said, I was wrong." Lucius paused. "For that, I am sorry."

There was nothing more for Draco to say that hadn't been shouted in their argument seven years before. He merely nodded and quickly left the room before he could be detained any longer.

**ooo**

Hermione was asleep when he reached her suite, but she woke easily upon his entrance to her bedroom. She smiled at him and greeted him sleepily.

Draco was too agitated to provide anything but a clipped response, and started relaying the conversation with his father almost immediately. He paced back and forth beside the bed, while Hermione listened, still under the covers.

Her eyes drooped throughout his speech, but she managed to stay awake until the end. Then she pulled back the blankets.

"Let's talk tomorrow," she said with a yawn. "I can't possibly process all of that right now."

Exhaustion coursed through Draco, and he nodded, unable to stifle his own yawn. Suddenly the thought of sleep was the most incredible relief he could imagine, and Draco sank into bed beside Hermione. He didn't even remember his head hitting the pillow.

**ooo**

A loud, sharp knock woke Draco, and he'd been sleeping so soundly that it took him a moment to remember where he was. He blinked a few times and propped himself on his elbow. The knock sounded again, so he got out of bed, slightly disoriented, and pulled on his shirt.

A quick glance around the suite revealed that Hermione was gone, and judging by the shadows on the walls, it was near midday.

The person rapped a third time, and Draco opened it, squinting at the light in the hallway.

"Draco."

He inwardly groaned. "Blaise.

The other man raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Draco's disheveled appearance. Without thinking, Draco reached up and tried to pat his hair down, but to no avail.

Now much more awake, Draco regarded his former house-mate. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Hermione," Blaise replied coolly.

"She's not here." Draco indicated the empty room. "You're welcome to come in and wait."

Blaise nodded stiffly.

Draco let him in and then sat on the sofa with a yawn. He picked up the nearest thing to read—the most recent edition of _Arithmancy Today_—and started to thumb through it.

"Since you're here," said Blaise, leaning against the mantle, "I'd like to know your intentions with Hermione."

Draco frowned slightly. "I fail to understand how that's any of your business."

Blaise crossed his arms. "You made it my business when you got me involved. I sent you all that information on her, so I think I have the right to know what you're doing with it—and her."

"Do you fancy her?" Draco asked bluntly. Blaise's strange aloofness and the nature of his question didn't leave room for a lot of alternatives.

Blaise scowled. "No, Draco. Merlin. Just because I care about her doesn't mean I fancy her. She's a … a friend. I respect her. I don't want to see her end up hurt. Like Daphne."

Draco stared out the half-curtained window. "Daphne was a long time ago," he said finally. "I'm a different person now."

"Are you?" Blaise demanded, suddenly angry. "I'm not so sure. Up until a few months ago, you still paraded around with a different woman every other week, still maintained a strict distance from the media, showed no interest in … well, anything. Now suddenly, you're in a committed relationship with someone you hadn't seen in years. And you had me do your dirty work, to find out her likes and dislikes, so you wouldn't have to go through all that trouble."

"That's not—"

"It's like … cheating." Blaise didn't acknowledge that Draco had started to speak. "You went into the situation knowing exactly what you'd need to do and say to ensure that she'd like you—does she even know you?"

"Yes," Draco said firmly and loud enough to make sure Blaise wouldn't interrupt again. "She does. Better than anyone."

Blaise's expression was skeptical. "I don't want you hurting her. You know, I was the one Daphne turned to after you two ended. I'm the one she turned to when you broke her heart; she cried to me about everything you did and didn't do. All those nights you didn't come home."

Draco shifted uncomfortably; Daphne wasn't a topic he liked to discuss. "What exactly are you implying?"

"Absolutely nothing," Blaise said simply. "I know you slept away many nights, and considering your penchant for women …." He trailed off, letting the accusation twist in the air.

"You think I cheated on her," he stated.

"I know you did," he countered. "She knows it too."

The statement, spoken so surely and adamantly, stunned Draco. "I never cheated."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Right."

"I'm serious," he assured. "When I said I slept at the office all those nights, I meant it. I don't cheat." Unbidden, the pictures of his mother flashed through his mind, and he felt physically sick.

The other man stared at him as though trying to read the truth on his face or in his eyes. "You swear it?"

"I absolutely do," he affirmed. "I never cheated on Daphne, and I can't entertain the thought of hurting Hermione that way. I …. Never."

Blaise pushed himself off the wall and went to stand by the window. After a few long moments, he said, "Let's hope so."

"It bothers me that Daphne thought—well, still thinks—that I cheated," Draco muttered. "We don't really talk much anymore; I'm not sure how to bring it up, or even if I should."

"I reckon I could say something." Blaise shrugged. "I doubt she really cares much anymore. Did you know she went out with Weasley?"

Draco's jaw dropped. "You mean … Ron?"

Blaise nodded. "It was about a week ago. I'm not sure it'll last, but I think she had fun."

"You fancy _her_," Draco realized. "Daphne."

Again, Blaise turned to the window. "It's always been her," he admitted quietly.

Draco didn't want to press, despite his curiosity to know more.

"I always hated you a little," Blaise said after a few moments, "for hurting her." He chuckled. "It would seem that anger was misplaced."

"I still hurt her," Draco reminded him. "Just not the way you thought. I … I was young, and arrogant, and stupid."

Blaise smirked. "What's changed, exactly?"

Draco chuckled. "Nothing terribly much, I'll admit. But I know what I did wrong with Daphne, and I've had six years to reflect on it. I assure you, I won't be making the same mistake again."

"Good to hear."

"Why are we having this conversation?" Draco asked after a moment's thought. "Shouldn't it be Potter and Weasley cornering me, wands drawn, threatening me not to hurt her, else they'll slowly and painfully castrate me?"

Blaise laughed. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time before that happens."

Draco shuddered at the thought. "They both seem oddly … all right with it. So far. Though to be fair, for all they know, we aren't very serious."

"Are you?" Blaise asked pointedly. "Serious?"

Draco was saved from responding by the arrival of Hermione. Upon entering the room, she glanced anxiously between them. "Blaise," she said, nodding in his direction.

It was then that Draco noticed the large stack of books and parchments in Hermione's arms, and he jumped off the sofa to help her.

"Thank you," she said, smiling widely at him.

"Where do you want them?" he asked.

She pointed to her desk. "Just set them anywhere. So, Blaise. What brings you by?"

Blaise glanced at Draco, then said, "I was hoping we could finalize some plans for the holiday dinner."

Draco quirked an eyebrow in Hermione's direction.

"Blaise and I are in charge of putting together a special dinner for the seventh-year students that will take place just before Christmas holiday," she explained. "It's for all the houses. Minerva suggested it last year, and it was well-received."

"I see. I should leave you two to discuss it, then." Draco looked for something to do and remembered a book he'd seen on Hermione's night stand. "I'll just go in the other room."

Hermione smiled at him warmly and sat down facing Blaise. Draco slowly left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him. He thought about listening in on their conversation, but he doubted there would be anything worth hearing.

He grabbed the book off Hermione's night stand and went onto the small balcony to read. He'd read a few chapters when Hermione joined him outside.

"Blaise gone?" he asked, marking the page he was on.

"Yes." She leaned on the railing. "You and Blaise seemed … almost friendly."

He shrugged. "Almost."

She looked at him shrewdly, silently prodding for more information.

"Blaise aired a grievance against me," he explained with a sigh. "He'd made an assumption about an event in the past, and I relieved him of the erroneous belief. I'm sure it mended the rift somewhat."

Hermione merely nodded and went back to staring over the grounds. "I've been thinking," she said after a few minutes.

"That doesn't surprise me," he remarked. "What about?"

"Your father. Your sister. Harry. Everything."

Draco chuckled. "Welcome to my life."

"Harry might have mentioned your father's … mission a couple of times," she said thoughtfully. "Snippets of conversation have been popping into my head all day long."

Draco glanced up at her. "Oh?"

She nodded. "Nothing specific, of course. But he's been working with Arthur on a project for the Ministry ever since the end of the war. I mean, he started out with the Ministry before teaching, but he's continued with it. With something. This has to be it."

He was about to respond when he remembered his conversation with Harry a few days before. Harry had seemed to change directions mid-thought, and Draco wondered if Potter had been expecting Draco to ask about Lucius' plans.

"You may be right," Draco muttered, getting angry at Potter for not telling him anything. For seven years, the hero of the wizarding world had information about Draco's family, his life, and yet he hadn't …. Well, what did Draco really expect? Did he truly think Harry Potter would have knocked on the door of Malfoy Manor and told Draco that his father was betraying everyone he'd ever known to work with the Ministry? Draco would have laughed in Harry's face and sent him away.

Then something else occurred to him. The box! It must have something to do with the mission if Harry had held it for Lucius all those years. Only … Harry had said that he didn't know what was in the box, that he'd kept it for safe-keeping. Still, why wouldn't Lucius have given it to his wife? It made no sense that his father had considered Harry as the best choice.

"What are you doing today?" Hermione asked, breaking his train of thought. "I've got class soon."

"Did I sleep through lunch?" he inquired. "I have no idea what time it is."

Hermione smiled. "You did. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, quite." As if on cue, his stomach rumbled.

"Well, you're welcome to eat here," she offered. "And there's always Hogsmeade."

He briefly considered his options. "I'll go out. Don't want to bother the house-elves."

Hermione beamed. "You should come back after you eat."

"You can't join me?" he asked hopefully.

"No," she replied with a smile. "Sorry. I'll be finished today at four, and I'll have a few hours free before patrols start."

Draco sighed. "Right. I can find something to occupy my time." He didn't want to return to the Manor. Despite his father's openness the night before, it only served to reinforce that he'd been hiding things from his son and that Narcissa had known everything as well. The wounds of betrayal were still too fresh to find comfort in his childhood home.

An image of the house Hermione was buying entered his mind, and he thought he might stop by and have a look around again.

He got up and stood behind Hermione, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. "Cassie said to tell you hello. She wants to see you; she mentioned the Christmas holiday. Do you have plans?"

"I've been thinking about it," Hermione replied, relaxing into his embrace and sighing contentedly. "I usually spend Christmas Eve with my parents, and the next day we go to the Burrow. What about you?"

Draco frowned. It wasn't difficult to picture Christmas Day at the Weasleys: good food, lots of people, lots of smiles, an argument or two. It was a startling contrast to his experiences.

"Growing up, we'd usually go to my grandmother's house. She always seemed so old to me; I don't think she really recovered from my grandfather's early demise." He paused. "My aunts and uncles on Father's side would sit around, grumbling about the Ministry, Hogwarts, Muggles … it was never much fun. I had a few cousins, but none were my age. Lucius was the youngest child by almost ten years."

"I didn't know that," Hermione mused.

The memories of those holiday gatherings were cold and dark. Hours spent sitting in the company of adults, speaking only when spoken too—which was rarely. He'd felt too small, and he'd hated the feeling. He wasn't used to being silent and still.

"When I started Hogwarts, those gatherings stopped. I don't really know why, but I didn't complain. Then my grandmother died when I was twelve, and I haven't seen my father's side of the family since. I had one good Christmas with my parents, during third year. I was … well, as happy as I knew to be."

He smiled at the memory of his parents, happy and the most in love he could remember seeing them. That, more than anything, had made that Christmas special.

"I bet you got a ton of presents," she remarked playfully.

Draco chuckled and gave her a squeeze. "I can only remember a few gifts I received. After the twentieth or so, they all start to run together."

"Tell me about one of them."

"All right, let's see …. When I was nine, I begged for what was called a Junior Alchemist Set. It was basically a harmless Potions kit—nothing was supposed to go wrong so long as you followed the simple directions."

Hermione turned in his arms to face him, smiling. "Let me guess. You blew something up."

He smirked. "They had to put warning labels on the packages after that."

"You're incorrigible," she teased.

"Why, thank you!"

She shook her head and extricated herself from his arms, then sat at the small table. "Please continue telling me about your holidays. I want to know all about them."

"Are you sure?" he asked warily. "It's hardly interesting."

"Oh, I disagree. It's fascinating hearing you talk about when you were younger. It's hard to believe you are the same person as that little boy who called me names."

"All right, all right." He joined her at the table and stared out over the grounds. "The next year, I stayed at Hogwarts for the holiday because of the Yule Ball. You were stunning that night, by the way. I'm afraid I couldn't take my eyes off you at first. None of the boys in Slytherin could find anything mean to say about you that night. Half of them wished they'd worked up the nerve to ask you for a dance."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're such a liar."

"I am not!" he argued. "Ask Greg. He'll tell you."

"Would he tell me that you were one of those boys wishing he'd asked me to dance?" she teased.

"Sadly, no. Even if I had thought it to myself, I never would have voiced it." He chuckled and took her hand. "I've grown up a lot since then. And besides, I have you now. What more could I ask for?"

Hermione smiled. "What happened the next year?"

Draco looked away. "The Dark Lord was back," he whispered, shivering despite the warmth of the balcony. "Our home was bleak, empty, forlorn. I suspect part of it was my parents missing Cassie; nothing was right during that time. Sixth year it was just Mum and me, and she spent a few days … away. I thought she'd gone somewhere with Bellatrix, but I'd bet she was with Cassie."

"That must have been hard," Hermione remarked. "Being away from her child, and for whatever reason, not having anyone to share in her pain since your father was in prison."

He felt the tiniest pangs of sympathy, but they weren't nearly strong enough to make him feel anything for Narcissa's plight. "The next year, there was no Christmas. At least, nothing that could respectably be called that. Every second of every day I wanted to be back at school, which is saying something, considering I hated Hogwarts that year."

Hermione gently squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry."

"It's in the past." He stood abruptly and started pacing on the small balcony, but there just wasn't enough room to burn off the anxiety at what he'd just recounted. He stopped and gripped the balcony so hard his knuckles turned white.

"And now?" she asked gently.

He chuckled wryly. "Now. For the last three or four years, I've worked Christmas Eve, as late as I could possibly work. Then I'd go home, get thoroughly sloshed, and fall asleep wherever I happened to lose consciousness. I'd sleep until my mother woke me, pounding on the door, upset that I'd slept through breakfast."

Hermione sent him a withering look. He continued. "Hungover, I would attempt to appease her by opening presents with her, but she'd eventually get frustrated with me and leave. She probably went to France, now that I think about it. Anyway, then I'd wallow in self-pity until Pansy came over and forced a hangover potion down my throat. Then she'd drag me to her house where I'd endure her mother's noxious voice for a few hours until I was imagining all the ways I could end my life with a tea cup and sugar spoon. Then I'd go back home and drink myself into oblivion once again. The day after Christmas, I'd down enough hangover potions and coffee to get me through the bleak day."

Draco glanced warily at Hermione.

"That's awful." Her expression was hard, but then it softened. "What a horrible way to spend Christmas."

Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

"So, um. You drink a lot."

"You noticed?" he mused.

She looked at him. "It worries me."

"I've actually been better since … well, since you." The realization surprised him only for an instant.

"Really?" Her eyes were wide with surprise.

Draco laughed. "If you can believe it, yes."

"Why … do you do it?" she asked hesitantly. "So much?"

He didn't even blink. "Need you ask?" She frowned, so he continued. "I'm not exactly the happiest bloke around, if you hadn't noticed. I've been on autopilot for years, simply trying to survive. I admit I haven't gone about it in the best way."

"You're not happy now?" Hermione's expression was troubled.

He smiled to reassure her and returned to the table. "You make me very happy."

"But it's not enough," she said, almost accusingly.

"Should it be?" he asked.

Hermione considered the question, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I … I suppose not."

"When thinking about not having you doesn't terrify me to my very bones, then I think I'll be happy. In myself."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

Draco nodded. "There's a potion I can get from the Ministry. It's a liver restorative. You have to be clean for a few months before you can apply for it. But I made an initial appointment."

"How long has it been?" she asked.

"Since my last drink? I haven't been on a binger in a while, but … I had a little last night, while talking with my father," he admitted. And just two days before, he'd taken a bottle of firewhisky to Greg's. "Not much, though. To get the potion, you don't have to completely cut it out—a glass of wine occasionally is all right."

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad to hear this. Have you had your liver checked?"

"Yes. I'm still rather young, so that helps, but the Healer told me to do something about the drinking." Draco had never imagined sharing something so personal with another human being, but with Hermione, it was so natural that he barely noticed he was doing it.

"I want you to be happy, Draco." Her smile wavered.

"I am," he insisted. "I'm getting there. Being with you makes me happier than I've ever been."

"But can you achieve that happiness you want while you're with me? Don't you need to discover that on your own?"

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Not this again. I'm not going to let you break up with me 'for my own good.' That's rubbish. I shouldn't place all my hopes for happiness in you, but just being with you is helping me discover that. Why do you insist on thinking I need to run away to find myself? I can do it right here. With you."

When she looked at him, her eyes were brimming with tears, and her expression held confusion, hope, fear, and hesitation. "I just want what's best for you, even if that isn't me."

"It _is_." Draco moved her chair close to his and pulled her against him. _I love you, I love you, I love you_, he thought. "You are the best thing in my life, Hermione. Don't ever think otherwise."

She nodded against him and burrowed further into his embrace.

They sat that way for a few minutes until Hermione jerked away. "Oh no. What time is it? It doesn't matter, I know I'm late." She jumped up and rushed inside.

Draco followed, amused.

"Class started ten minutes ago. Ten!" she cried, grabbing her things. "Will I see you tonight?"

"I have to eat dinner with my parents," he said distastefully. "But I'll be back after that."

Hermione smiled. "Good. I—Oh, I have patrols tonight. I'll be late getting in."

"That's okay," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing around the room. "I'll be here."

She stared at him for a few seconds, an indescribable expression on her face, and then disappeared through the door.

**ooo**

When Draco arrived at the dining room his customary eight minutes early, his parents were already seated and talking in low voices. Upon his entering, they stopped.

Narcissa smiled warmly. "Draco. It's good to see you. I wasn't sure you would be here."

He forced a half-smile and sat across from her. "Evening, Mother, Father. Why wouldn't I?"

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a look that made Draco want to throttle them, but no one spoke again until the food arrived.

"How was your day?" Narcissa asked.

"Fine," he replied tersely, hoping to convey through body language that he wasn't in the mood for conversation.

"Perhaps you would care to elaborate for us," Lucius commanded quietly.

"I had lunch in Hogsmeade and spent my afternoon there," he responded flatly.

"Did you see Hermione?" Narcissa asked.

Draco couldn't help but wonder why they were so interested in his day. "I did."

"How is she?" Lucius asked stiffly.

Draco raised an eyebrow, amused by his father's attempts to feign interest. "She is well."

A muscle in Lucius' face twitched. "You should invite her for dinner again."

"That would be fun," he said sarcastically. "Except it probably wouldn't be the best idea, since you've started up the good old boys club again. Wouldn't want word to get out that you'd entertained a Muggle-born."

Narcissa gasped. "Draco! You know very well what your father is doing."

He wasn't sure he could sit there and talk about this with his parents, so he set his flatware down and gripped his napkin under the table.

"He has a point," Lucius commented.

"How are you handling everything?" Narcissa asked.

Draco sighed impatiently. "How am I dealing with the fact that my father, once a pillar of the Dark Lord's organization and his staunchest supporter, is now working for the Ministry to capture all the Death Eaters that remain at large? How do you think I'm handing it?" he sneered.

"Is there anything we can do?"

Her sympathetic tone only grated on his nerves, and he didn't hesitate. "Tell me the truth."

Narcissa glanced at Lucius, who turned to Draco. "We're having another meeting Friday night."

Draco clenched his jaw, annoyed that his request was summarily ignored. "Still want me to do absolutely nothing?"

"I would like you to be here," Lucius replied. "With your mother. The possibility exists that this meeting could be the last, and if it is, we will have things to discuss once it's all over."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You mean, Cassie?"

Lucius nodded.

"You would tell me everything so quickly?" Draco wasn't quite ready to accept this apparent frankness.

"Would you prefer to wait?" The corner of Lucius' lip turned up very slightly.

"No," Draco huffed, annoyed at himself. "I just thought it would take more to get the truth out of you."

"We want to tell you," Narcissa assured him, her tone pleading with him to believe her. "More than anything. But we can't until we can be absolutely certain you'll be safe."

"I'm a grown man, Mother," Draco ground out. "I can take care of myself."

"Enough," Lucius growled. "Draco, we understand that you've been hurt by what we've kept from you. Did you think we didn't anticipate your reaction? The fact that we went ahead with our plans despite knowing how it would affect you should tell you something. Do you trust us so little?"

Draco stared at his father, caught off guard by the calm but forceful tone behind his words. Not the mention the words themselves.

Lucius didn't wait for a response. "It may be difficult for you to see the big picture, but try to think back. Since you were born, _you_ have been our first priority."

Draco started to object, but Lucius would have nothing of it. "I believe you've already had this discussion with your mother; I don't feel the need to repeat it. We are not in the habit of lying to you, son. All that we have done has been for you."

He wanted to protest, to bring up Rodolphus and Lucius' part in the blackmailing. How could his father sit there and claim that _everything_ he had done had been for Draco? How could he maintain that he wasn't lying? The two seemed irreconcilable.

Lucius gave him a pointed look, as though he had heard the thoughts in Draco's head. "_Everything_. For you and Cassie."

Perhaps in Cassie was the answer. The blackmail money had gone, in part, to her. Still, why hadn't Narcissa requisitioned the funds needed for her care? If she'd asked for the sum on a regular basis, what right had Draco to ask what she did with it?

Draco felt suddenly weary, despite sleeping the morning away. "You want me to trust you."

"I want you to realize that this isn't all about you," he explained patiently. "Yes, you've been hurt, you probably feel wronged, but take whatever comfort you can from this: if we had it to do again, we'd do it the same."

Lucius hadn't yelled, hadn't cursed, hadn't really raised his voice, but what he'd said drove a hole through Draco's carefully structured walls. His parents weren't perfect, but he loved them, and at one time, he'd trusted them. Perhaps all that had changed was his perception of their actions. If his beliefs had aligned more with theirs, he probably wouldn't be so bitter about them exposing him to those beliefs in the first place.

Draco sighed, not quite ready to let go of all of his anger, but willing to see the wisdom in his father's words. "You'd do all of this again. Everything?" Tucked inside the words, Draco really wanted to know if his father would condone the blackmailing a second time.

Lucius quirked half a smile. "We might make some minor adjustments, since we've had the luxury of examining our plans, but for the most part, yes. Everything."

Nodding slowly, Draco looked at his parents—really looked, for the first time in a long time. His mother was smiling serenely, hopefully, and Draco saw worry lines he'd never noticed before. Lucius looked better than he had upon his release from prison, but he, too, had new lines on his face. They were hardly old by wizarding or Muggle standards, but at the same time, they looked older than Draco remembered them.

"You've given me a lot to think about," he admitted. "I will. I promise."

"Thank you." Narcissa's eyes brimmed with tears. "We love you, son."

Draco let out his breath. "I … love you, too." Unable to even consider eating any more of his dinner, he set his napkin on the table.

"You're leaving?" his mother asked, startled.

"I'm not really hungry anymore," he explained. "I'd like to go upstairs now."

"Of course, dear," she said sympathetically. "We'll see you tomorrow. Good night."

"Good night, Mother." Draco stood and bowed slightly. "Father."

Once in the hallway and a few feet away, Draco could breathe easier. He hurried to his room and shut the door behind him, leaning against it for support. The conversation he'd just had with his parents seemed … surreal. They'd talked openly about Cassie, about the operation with the Ministry, and then Lucius had basically told Draco that they loved him, they weren't lying, but they also wouldn't apologize for anything they'd done.

He would need a good night's rest and a large pot of coffee to work through what he'd been told. At least he would have Hermione to talk to about it. The thought made him smile, and he gathered a few belongings to take to her place.

He hoped she'd accidentally wake him up when she got in bed so he'd be able to hold her until he fell back asleep.

**ooo**

**End Notes**: tribute paid to Lord of the Rings in the sentence "He'll be allowed to die in whatever ways he sees fit." Thanks to everyone for reading and being so patient in waiting for this chapter. 3 weeks! I couldn't believe it. RL has just slammed me lately. Anyway, I hope you liked this! Artwork was done by riptey (it's actually a picture of an OIL painting she did!), music as always by inadaze22. Beta thanks go to pokeystar and drcjsnider! Oh, and since I haven't actually quite finished writing this story yet (if you've seen my muse, please ask her to come back to me!), I'll be posting every TWO weeks until I do get it finished. Thanks again for your patience!!


	32. In the Night

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. Just writing for fun.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 32 - - In the Night**

**- - -  
**

"Are you worried?" Hermione asked.

"About what?" Draco shifted slightly to get a better view of her. They were lying in her bed, both pleasantly spent. Hermione was nestled beside him, lazily tracing the scars on his face and chest.

"Your father," she said. "It could all end tonight."

He frowned slightly. "Why would I be worried?"

She paused, her finger at one jagged edge of the Sectumsempra scar. "Because dozens of Aurors may be descending on a gathering of fifty-some Death Eaters. Do you think they'll just surrender peacefully?"

The scene was too easy to picture. Men shrouded in dark cloaks facing off with the Ministry's finest. The clearing would be lit with the trails of spells flying in every direction. There would certainly be casualties.

"I hadn't thought about that." Draco swallowed hard. Why _hadn't_ he given any thought to what might happen? Of course the Death Eaters wouldn't go quietly. Lucius could be caught in the cross-fire.

Draco started to feel slightly panicked. He was surprised by how much the thought of his father being hurt or worse, killed, terrified him. Even more astonishing was the fact that it had nothing to do with the repercussions for Draco with respect to the family business. If Lucius died, Draco would inherit it, but the only thought pressing on his mind was that he and his father had unfinished business. Lucius needed to know that Draco forgave him for everything, even though he was still hurting. Draco had no intention of staying mad at his parents forever, but Lucius didn't know that.

The urge to rush home and see his father was enormous.

But then Hermione resumed tracing his scars, and his breathing relaxed. "I'm sure the Aurors will protect him," she mused.

"Yes, but the other Death Eaters will still be fighting to the death," he countered.

She looked up at him, concerned, and placed her palm flat on his chest. "You all right? I'm sorry I brought it up. Your heart is pounding."

Draco tried to smile reassuringly. "Since you mentioned it, I suppose I am a little worried." He glanced at the clock on her nightstand; it was eleven. "Do you think they have a plan?"

Hermione scoffed. "It's Arthur! Of course there's a plan. Let's talk about something else," she suggested. "We never discussed Christmas."

He let out a sigh. "You tell me what you'd like to do, since we have to work around your plans."

"I don't want to intrude," she began. "This will be the first time you'll be with your parents and Cassie, assuming they're going to France for the holiday. I would think you'd like some time just as a family."

"You're probably right," he acknowledged. He ran a hand through his hair and moved some of Hermione's curls away from his face. "But I want to see you. I want you there."

She smiled at him. "Me too. I think I'll spend Christmas Eve with my parents and go to the Burrow Christmas Day, as usual. Then that night, I'll join you. That will give you all day to be with your family."

Draco nodded. "That's a good plan. I'll tell Cassie."

"I'm glad that's settled." Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist and snuggled closer, humming with satisfaction. "Oh! Harry invited us over for dinner Sunday night."

He made a face. "Are we going?"

She jabbed him playfully. "Don't you want to?"

"Honestly?" Her second jab was more forceful. "All right, all right. I can't say I want to have dinner at the Potters', but I want to go with you."

"Good. That's settled."

"How does it feel to be free from this place for a few weeks?" he asked. That day had been the last day of classes for the term. The next morning, all the teachers and staff would be escorting the students to Hogsmeade and seeing them safely on the train back to London.

"Mmm, wonderful."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "When will you be free tomorrow?"

"The teachers usually have lunch together at the Three Broomsticks, and there's a long staff meeting once we return," she said. "It starts at two and will probably be over around five."

"May I steal you away at some point? For dinner, perhaps?" he asked.

"I'm counting on it," she replied.

They lay together quietly, and Draco ran his hands through her hair until he realized she was asleep. Then he kissed the top of her head and imagined telling her how he felt. Without speaking, he mouthed the words his heart shouted whenever he saw her, heard her voice, or kissed her.

_I love you_.

It wouldn't require much more energy to turn the words into sound, but if by some chance he was wrong and she wasn't asleep, he wasn't sure he was ready for her response. If she felt the same, he would be the happiest man alive. If she didn't … well. He didn't like thinking about that.

The only problem was that _not_ saying it to her was becoming increasingly difficult. It was so natural. It popped into his head at the most random times, like when she ordered her ink wells by color and when she smelled the pages of a new book. He'd always expected love would be in the obvious things instead—the way she looked, they way she talked, or the way she laughed. He loved those things, too, but they weren't what made his heart swell when he remembered them.

Nothing intimidated him about professing his feelings to anyone but her. His parents gave him the most pause, but he had no intention of letting them influence his decision. If they threatened to disown him, to refuse to have him in their lives anymore, he would have to seriously consider his options. He wanted his parents in his life, and they appeared to want him in theirs; he doubted it would come to that.

Draco really didn't care what his friends thought or said. Both Greg and Pansy had supported his relationship with Hermione, and he suspected they'd do the same if he married her. Though they were both on the same side of the blood issue, Greg and Pansy were still separated by economic class.

Thinking about his friends reminded him that he hadn't heard one way or the other if Greg was going to forgive Pansy. He would have to check in on his friend.

Hermione would have to deal with her friends, but so far, they hadn't given her any problems of which he was aware. He was certain she would have told him if anything had been said.

As Draco listened to her steady breathing, he was hit with the realization that he was ready to tell her. He wanted to. He almost woke her, he was so overcome, but then he saw that it was quarter to midnight.

"Hermione," he whispered, shaking her lightly.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, snuggling against him.

"I have to go," he said gently.

"Oh!" she gasped, sitting up.

The sheet fell around her waist, and Draco drank in the sight of her. Hungrily he pulled her close for a searing kiss. "I'll be back later," he said, breathless and relishing the flush of her cheeks.

"Wake me up?" she asked, falling onto the bed and drawing the sheet up.

"You sure?" he asked with a devilish smirk. Oh, the delightful chore of waking a naked Hermione Granger in the middle of the night ….

"Positive." She grinned saucily, then yawned.

Draco chuckled as he pulled on his pants and trousers. "I want you to be fully awake when I'm ravishing you."

"Don't worry about me," she replied.

"Have you seen my tie?" he asked, buttoning his shirt and glancing around the room. Hermione reached under her pillow and produced the requested accessory. "Thanks." When he leaned over to take the tie, he kissed her again, and she grabbed his shirt to keep him from moving.

He hated to, but he had to end the kiss. "Hermione," he groaned.

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry." Her expression belied her statement.

"Yeah, right." Draco winked. "See you soon."

Hermione waved as he left her bedroom.

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Draco Floo'd to the Manor. He straightened his clothes and stared at his liquor cabinet, wanting something to take the edge off. But no—he wouldn't. Instead, he downed a cup of very strong coffee brewed by Chippy before finding his mother. His house-elf had informed him that Narcissa was in her sitting room.

Now that he was in his house, walking the dark, silent halls, his nerves returned with a vengeance. By the time he reached his mother's suite, his stomach was in knots.

"Enter."

He hadn't even realized he'd knocked.

"Draco." Narcissa smiled upon his entry. She was sitting on the sofa, her legs tucked under her, a book open in her lap. "I wasn't sure you were coming."

"I said I would." He sat in the chair nearest the fireplace.

"Would you like some tea?" She indicated a tray on the coffee table.

"No, thank you. I've had coffee."

Draco stared into the flames. For a few minutes, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire feeding on air and the turning of pages.

"Are you worried?" he asked when the clock struck twelve.

Narcissa marked her page and shut the book. "A little. But your father is very skilled with a wand. I've seen him in action too many times to doubt his abilities."

"When will we know?" Draco looked at his mother.

"The first five minutes are the most nerve-wracking. Death Eaters are, by rule, a punctual lot." She grimaced. "No one was late when the Dark Lord called. Of course it's always possible someone will show up late."

Draco nodded. They passed the next five minutes in silence; Narcissa didn't even read.

At twelve-oh-seven, she sighed. "Now we wait until he returns. In the meantime, I have something for you."

Draco watched as she disappeared into her bedroom and returned moments later with a small, black box. She placed it in his hands and returned to the sofa.

"Open it."

Warily, he eyed the box. It was nearly cubical in shape, hinged on one side. "Mum …."

"Just … please?"

After taking another long breath, Draco opened it. Inside was an intricately sculpted silver ring that was missing a center stone. He quirked an eyebrow at his mother. "What is it?"

"It's a setting," she replied. "It's been in my family for generations. The ring is magical and is imbued with dozens of useful and protective spells. All it needs to be complete is a stone."

Gingerly, he lifted the ring and examined the filigree. "It's exquisite."

"I wanted to wait until you were serious about finding someone to give it to," she said kindly. "I have no idea if you've given it any thought, but since you've been with Hermione, you've been in a better place. That's my observation, at least."

He nodded, imagining the ring on Hermione's delicate but strong fingers. "It's crossed my mind a time or two," he admitted. "Though I don't think I'm quite ready."

"May I offer you a piece of advice?" she asked.

"Please, do," he replied, not sure if he entirely meant it.

"Hermione doesn't strike me as the diamond type. Just keep that in mind." She smiled.

Draco chuckled, surprised. "I will. Thank you."

"That is the only piece of jewelry a mother can hope to have occasion to give her son," she continued. "I trust you to use it wisely."

He replaced the ring but didn't shut the box. "If I didn't know better, I would take this as a sign of acceptance of Hermione."

"Draco." Her tone was lightly scolding. "I want you to be happy, above all else. If she makes you happy, I cannot oppose her. There is nothing a mother wants more than to see her son happily in love."

"Even if his beloved goes against everything he's been taught to believe?" he queried.

"I've seen what can happen when parents don't approve of a child's mate." Narcissa's expression became troubled, distant. "I've seen families torn apart, my own included. I've witnessed lives ruined, relationships destroyed. We've lived through a terrible war; nothing is worth risking what we've been given a second chance to enjoy. I will not stand in your way if you choose Hermione."

Draco shut the box and pocketed it. "What about father? Don't try to tell me he feels the same way."

Narcissa smirked, an expression that surprised Draco.

"You don't give him enough credit. He's trying very hard."

"I can't imagine the two of them ever getting along." Draco shook his head, dread creeping into his mind. "Family gatherings will be tortuous. Clipped, strained conversation, distrust …. Father will never apologize to her."

"You don't know that," she argued. "Give him time, Draco. It's only been a few months. Why don't you bring her with you to dinner tomorrow?"

Draco looked at her skeptically. "Really?"

"Yes. We'll have a nice evening together."

He hesitantly agreed, and the conversation turned to other things. Draco found it surprisingly easy to talk to his mother, despite his lingering feelings of hurt. He'd missed his friendship with her since his father's release; they hadn't spent any time just the two of them, something they had both enjoyed during Lucius' seven-year absence.

At almost one, Lucius finally entered the room, looking exhausted.

Narcissa leapt up to embrace him, and he eagerly returned it. He nodded to Draco over her shoulder.

"How was it?" she asked as they separated. "How many were missing?"

"Just two," he replied, settling beside her on the sofa. "I have my suspicions about whom, so I plan to approach them before the next meeting."

"When is that?" Draco asked.

"Monday night," Lucius replied. He looked at his wife. "I suspect that will be the end."

Her answering smile was radiant. "That's wonderful! Oh, I do hope so. Perhaps Cassie—"

Lucius cut her off. "Indeed. Let us hope."

"Was the meeting a success?" Draco asked, ignoring the annoyance that sprang up at being left out of the conversation.

Lucius sighed heavily. "It was. Rabastan insists on action, but I told everyone something was being planned for the New Year. Said I wanted to begin the year on a positive note, send a message. I do hope this whole business is concluded before then. Some people are clamoring for a Muggle raid."

Draco didn't want to know what that meant. Narcissa yawned and leaned on Lucius, and Draco took that as his cue to leave. He bade his parents a good night and hurried back to his room. With every step, he pictured Hermione waiting for him, and by the time he reached his door, he was running.

**ooo**

At eleven o'clock the following morning, Draco did something he never thought he'd do: went to the Burrow without Hermione.

Molly was surprised to find him on her doorstep, but she smiled after only a moment's hesitation.

"Draco! Well, this is a surprise, come in, come in." She ushered him into the kitchen and put a pot of water on the stove. "What brings you by?"

"I was hoping to speak with your husband, Mrs. Weasley," he said as he accepted a biscuit she'd offered.

"Oh, very good. Arthur's in the back garden. Tea?" Molly thrust a tin of tea bags at him.

Draco took the first one he touched. "Thank you. I'll have it after I've spoken with him."

Molly smiled. "It will be waiting for you, dear. I'll see you out and announce you."

He nodded and followed her. He'd been there on a few occasions but had never paid attention to the layout of the house. The path from the kitchen to the back door was a straight one, but he saw plenty of odd and improbable angles along the way.

Molly let him out and then called to her husband. "Arthur! You have a visitor!"

Draco thanked her again and turned in the direction she'd shouted. To his dismay, he discovered that Arthur was speaking with someone. Both men turned to look, and Draco cursed. It was Charlie.

When he neared them, they stopped talking. "I hope I'm not interrupting. I can always come back."

Arthur smiled. "No, don't be silly. Charlie's here all day. What can I do for you?"

"Well …." Draco glanced at Charlie. "I'm here to speak with you as the Minister."

Arthur nodded.

"I'll be inside, dad." Charlie gave Draco a curious look before heading for the house.

"All right, son," said Arthur. "How can I help?"

Draco didn't hesitate. "Sir, I'm here about my father."

That took the man by surprise. "Your father? I'm not sure I'll be able to help, but—"

"I'm sure you will," Draco asserted. "I know all about what he's doing. For the Ministry. That he's working to capture the remaining Death Eaters."

Arthur's expression changed instantly. "I see. They didn't want you to know."

"I know. I suppose I'm too curious for my own good." Draco shrugged.

"Nothing wrong with that." Arthur smiled reassuringly.

"I'd like to know if there's a plan," Draco began, "for the end. When my father summons the Aurors, do they have any kind of strategy? Or will they just rush in, wands at the ready, and shoot at anything that moves?"

"Oh, Merlin no," said Arthur. He motioned toward a table and chairs, and they both sat down. "There is certainly a plan."

"I'd like to hear it, if I may," Draco requested.

Arthur studied him for a moment, then nodded. "In addition to the Aurors, there will also be a few select members of the Order of the Phoenix. It will be our last mission, I hope. Two Order members have been tasked with getting your father to safety. Once we move in, they'll head directly to him. It makes sense, since he's the supposed leader."

"The Death Eaters will anticipate that move," Draco cautioned.

"We know the layout of the clearing. Those two, my son Bill and Kingsley, will move in from behind your father. They'll both be equipped with a special pressure-activated Portkey. Whoever reaches him first needs only press the Portkey on your father, anywhere, and they will both be Apparated out of the clearing."

"Why do you need a Portkey?" Draco asked.

"Ah," said Arthur. "Of course. The perimeter that's in place for detecting the Dark Marks will be enhanced with an anti-Apparition ward. No one will be able to Disapparate."

Draco stared at the lattice pattern on the outdoor table. "What about Rodolphus?"

Arthur sighed. "He's a secondary concern. His conscription into the mission wasn't exactly voluntary. Your father put him under some sort of blood vow. Another team of Aurors will be tasked with extricating him, but your father's safety is our primary goal."

"Good." Draco wasn't too concerned with Rodolphus. "Though you should know, you'll be going up against some of the Dark Lord's most violent supporters."

"We're going in with a large force," Arthur continued. "We know what we're up against, and we've had seven years to prepare for this. I assure you it will be quick, efficient, and relatively painless for everyone involved."

Draco couldn't fight the feeling that someone would end up dead. "They throw the killing curse around like it's fairy dust."

Arthur's expression was patient. "Your father has informed us of what we can expect."

The anxiety was still there, still lapping panic at the edge of his gut, but at least he knew there was a plan and that his father was the top priority. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

"Call me Arthur. Please. I'm glad I could set your mind at ease." He rose. "Can you stay for lunch? We've got some leftover roast beef. It makes excellent sandwiches."

Draco's mouth watered. "It sounds delicious, but I can't. I have a lunch appointment in Hogsmeade that cannot be rescheduled. I did promise Molly I'd stay for a cup of tea, though."

"Next time, then." Arthur held out his hand. "Don't ever hesitate to stop by if you need something."

Draco shook the Minister's hand, and they began walking toward the house. "I appreciate your forth-rightness."

"Well, it's only natural for you to worry about your father."

Once inside, Draco found the kitchen. No one was around, so he made a cup of tea and went onto the front porch. He smiled at the memory of his last occasion there, when Ron asked about Daphne. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he pushed open the door.

"What's funny?"

Draco's smile vanished at the sight of Charlie on the porch swing. "Nothing," he mumbled, regretting that common courtesy forbade him from retreating back into the house.

"Don't let me stop you," Charlie quipped.

With as much poise as he could muster, Draco crossed to the other side of the porch and leaned on the railing. He would down the tea as quickly as possible, even if it burned a hole in his tongue.

For a few seconds, Draco thought the other man might not speak. The steady sound of the metal links rubbing together was almost soothing.

"How's Hermione?" Charlie asked.

Draco took an extra-long sip. "She's … she's fine."

Charlie grinned. "Only fine?"

"Would you like a detailed description?" Draco barked.

"No, no. That won't be necessary." Charlie tilted his head. "How is her research on sopophorous beans?"

Draco nearly rolled his eyes at Charlie's attempt to show that he knew Hermione better than Draco. However, it wouldn't work. Even if he had to lie through his teeth.

Fortunately, though, he knew all about Hermione's research.

"Very well," he replied. "It's slow, as there are so many ways to extract the active ingredient from the beans. She's gone through all of the relatively quick methods, and now she's going through a round of soaking the beans in various solutions."

Charlie chuckled. "Good to hear."

Draco drank another large serving of tea. One more and he could extricate himself.

Charlie shifted on the swing. "Malfoy."

He looked up, trying to exude disinterest. "What?"

If Charlie noticed, he ignored it. "There's something I'd like to say, and I don't want you interrupting me."

"Of course not," Draco scoffed. "That would be rude."

"As I said." Charlie's expression became serious. "I'm not ready to concede. Not by a long-shot. You told me I had a chance until you claimed her as your wife. Well, I'm taking you literally. However, I'm not going to run around and try to steal her away. She knows me; she knows what we could have together. I plan to just sit back and wait for you to screw it up."

Draco forced a laugh, but inside he was seething. Not only at Charlie's audacity, but also because part of him fully expected to mess up.

"I … I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that you might not do that," Charlie continued. "So I want to hear what your intentions are with Hermione. Is this just some game for you? Are you experimenting with the whole relationship thing? Are you just going to get bored?"

When Charlie stopped, Draco waited to be sure he was finished. "I suppose I shouldn't be terribly surprised. I haven't been given the 'big brother' talk from Ron and Harry, so I guess this is it. Let me just say that this is none of your business."

Charlie made a face between a smile and a grimace.

"However, I respect you, and you meant—mean, I suppose—a lot to Hermione, so I'll tell you this much." Draco turned toward Charlie and finished his tea. "I'm not messing around. I take my relationship with her very seriously. I don't intend to let her go unless she wishes it, but I also don't intend to give her a reason to want to leave. I certainly promise her I am one hundred percent committed to her, and I won't let anything or, more importantly, any_one_ get in the way."

The men stared at each other, neither wanting to back down. Finally Charlie chuckled. "Right. Like I did. You know …." He paused. "It's easy for you to think I was a fool for letting her go, but unless you were there, in my position, you can't judge me. I was torn between my family and her, and no matter what choice I made, I lost."

"If you really loved her, how could you let her go?" Draco had wanted to ask this question since he'd first heard the story.

Charlie let out a long breath and ruffled his hair, his eyes focused somewhere behind Draco. He sat with his brow furrowed for a long while.

"You know, I never really made that decision," Charlie confessed. "When we broke up, I thought it would be temporary. We both needed a little time to sort things out, and then that time stretched, years passed … I never felt like I'd given her up. I'd just been waiting for the right time."

"In effect, you did," Draco remarked. "By letting years pass without trying to reconcile—officially, at least—you made the decision."

"I just … you're right, absolutely right." Charlie threw up his hands. "If I'd done something, anything, she might be with me tonight instead of you."

Just then, Molly came through the door. "Oh! Draco, you're still here."

He panicked briefly and checked his watch. "I shouldn't be. My appointment is in two minutes. Thank you for the tea, Molly." He returned the cup to her, then turned and nodded at his rival. "Charlie."

"Nice chatting with you." The older man responded with a frown.

"Right. Good day." Draco hurried off the porch and Disapparated.

**ooo**

"Dinner?" Hermione repeated, eyes wide. "Tonight?"

"Yes. You don't have to go, of course." He sat heavily on her sofa, exhausted from a busy day of running around that included an awkward conversation with Charlie. "My mother invited you."

She smiled warily from the chair beside him. "Will your father be there?"

"He will. I hope you won't let that make your decision for you."

Hermione started to speak but then stopped, tears filling her eyes. "What are we doing?" she whispered.

Draco panicked and replayed the conversation in his head, looking for something he had said or done to cause her to cry. Nothing was readily apparent. "I don't know what you mean. What's the matter?"

"I can't stand the thought of being in the same room with your father!" she cried. "What kind of future can we possibly have?"

"Whoa!" Draco took her hand, trying to soothe her. "Whoa, there. My father has nothing to do with our future."

Her troubled expression hurt his heart. "Of course he does, he's your father! I can't believe I didn't see this until now. Draco, I can't do this again."

He released her hand and started pacing, the panic threatening to drown him. "I can't help you until you tell me what you're on about."

"Your father hates me, remember?" She roughly brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Tried to kill me. If you and I stay together, what will that do to your family? I can't believe I would be the cause of another horrible rift. I can't let that happen again."

"You won't be," he insisted. "I wouldn't let that happen."

"Tell me," she demanded. "What will happen with your parents if we stay together?"

"They will get over it," he replied. "My mother has already given her blessing, essentially." The centuries-old family heirloom ring most certainly qualified, though he didn't want to tell Hermione the details.

She looked at him, brow furrowed. "Really?"

Draco returned to the sofa and sat as close to her as he could. "Really," he said earnestly, cupping her cheek in his hand. She leaned into his touch.

"But your dad," she repeated. "Can you honestly tell me he'll ever do the same?"

"Whether he does or not, nothing changes. Hermione." Merlin, he wanted to hold her until her pain went away. "I … I really don't care what he says. There's nothing he can do to change my mind."

"Don't you want a relationship with him?" she pressed, covering his hand with hers and pulling it into her lap.

"I do," he replied, surprised and relieved by the admission. "But if he chooses to let my relationship with you come between us, that's _his_ choice."

"It's so unfair," she lamented.

Draco sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "It is. It's life, though. I would choose you any day, because you represent my right to my own life. If they force the issue and it's you I choose, you need to accept my decision. It's _mine_ to make. If you don't want to be with me because this hard thing might happen, then you're making the choice for me. I don't want that."

She nodded solemnly. "I understand. You make a good point. I suppose I need to be stronger. Trust you more. I would just hate for you to grow to resent me."

He squeezed her hand. "If I make the decision, then for better or worse, I've no one to blame but myself."

"That's easy to say now, but what about in twenty years when your father refuses to acknowledge you on the street?" she argued.

He had to ignore the fact that she'd talked about their relationship in the long-term or he'd get too distracted. As it was, his heart leapt at her words. "I know my father. You will just have to trust me."

Hermione sighed and her shoulders slumped. "I'll try."

"Come to dinner tonight?" he asked again.

"All right." She gave him a small smile.

"Brilliant." Draco stood and planted a kiss on her forehead. "There's something I've got to do before dinner, and I don't have much time. Dinner is served promptly at—"

"Seven," she interrupted. "I remember."

"See you then." He kissed her again, this time on the lips. It was brief and rather tame for them, but in a way, that made it all that much sweeter. He nearly blurted out the three words that had been dancing through his mind with ever-increasing pace for weeks.

Draco hurried through the Floo to his closet room. He had just half an hour to find his father and speak with him.

Fortunately, his first guess turned out to be correct; Lucius was in the office.

"Draco," he said upon seeing his son in the doorway. "Come in."

"Thank you, Father."

"Care to sit?" Lucius asked.

"No, I'll stand." Draco clasped his hands behind his back. "I'd like to speak with you about an important matter."

Lucius rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his hands. "Of course."

"I need to know …. Are you ever going to support me in my relationship with Hermione?" His tone came out harsher than he'd intended.

"Support you?" Lucius repeated. "You already have my word that I'll be … nice. To accept your relationship. Yet you want more already. I barely know the girl."

Draco picked up a letter opener with a green-eyed snake on the hilt, fingering it absently as he spoke. "I've just had a conversation with her, and I insist upon pressing the point. She's worried that you will never accept her, and if that's the case, that she'll be the cause of a schism in our family. I've assured her that won't happen, and I'm here to tell you the same thing."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Decidedly," said Draco. "I won't let you be the reason Hermione and I don't last. If we fail, it will be of our own doing, not any outside forces."

"And how do you intend to enforce your will?" Lucius asked.

Here's where Draco's bravado fell short. "What do I have to do?"

Lucius studied him for a few moments. Draco didn't bother to hide his desperation. He would do almost anything.

"Trust me," Lucius replied finally. "Really trust me. About your sister, this mission—everything. Do that, and you have my support."

Draco's stared at his father. "That's … it?"

"That's it."

Fortunately, Draco had already started to let go of his distrust of his parents. It shouldn't be too hard to release the rest into the ether. The prize for doing so was well worth it.

"All right." Draco returned the letter opener and extended his hand.

Lucius sighed as he shook. "It seems you and I are doomed to communicate through compromise."

Draco chuckled lightly. "At least until we understand each other."

"I have one other request."

Draco braced himself. "What is it?"

"I will need to delay that support until after the mission is completed," he explained. "Giving you my … official support will require the changing of certain documents which are closely monitored by Ministry personnel. It wouldn't be wise to alert the media that I'm amending ancient Malfoy texts while trying to maintain the support of the extant Death Eaters."

"What documents?" Draco asked.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," Lucius assured him.

A loud _pop_ interrupted them, and Chippy appeared, bowing low before Lucius. "Your dinner guest is here, Master."

"Miss Granger?" the elder Malfoy inquired.

"Yes sir, Master. She is with the Mistress in the blue room." Chippy glanced briefly at Draco.

Lucius dismissed the elf. "Shall we?"

Draco and his father made their way to the blue room. Narcissa was in the middle of an animated story, and Hermione seemed both surprised at the other woman's friendliness and fascinated by the tale.

Lucius cleared his throat, drawing the attention of both women. Narcissa leapt up and went to her husband's side.

Draco couldn't take his eyes off Hermione. Since he'd seen her a mere thirty minutes before, she had done her hair in soft curls, piling them atop her head. She wore a lavender v-necked dress that revealed just enough to make his mouth water, knowing what was hidden from view.

She approached bravely and stopped by Draco's side.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said stiffly.

Then Draco watched, amazed, as Lucius smiled—actually _smiled_—at Hermione. "It's good to see you again, Miss Granger. Welcome."

"Thank you." Her tone held the same surprise Draco felt.

"I believe dinner is ready," said Narcissa, linking her arm through her husband's. They left the room first, followed by Draco and Hermione.

Draco smiled at her, hoping it would reassure her. Hermione attempted to return the gesture, but it was weak. She looked miserable.

"You're beautiful," he whispered in her ear.

Now her smile was easy and genuine. "Thank you."

They sat at one end of the long table again, and Hermione was seated beside Draco. Lucius sat at the head of the table with Narcissa to his right.

Lucius and Narcissa made small-talk until the food arrived. Then Lucius addressed Hermione. "So, Miss Granger. Do you have plans for the holiday?"

"I do, yes," she replied. Draco admired how unaffected she sounded, despite how nervous he knew she was. "I plan to spend time with my parents, the Weasleys, and Draco."

He turned an interested gaze on her. "Oh? Will you be joining us at some point?"

"Yes, if that's all right." She glanced at Draco for affirmation.

"It is," Lucius replied. "You are always welcome here."

"Th-thank you," Hermione stuttered.

"I know I've made things difficult," Lucius began, "but I hope we'll be able to move past all of that."

It was as close to an apology as Draco could hope for from his father, and he suspected Hermione knew this as well. The fact that Lucius had said it, without prompting, in front of his wife and son, spoke volumes.

For the first time, Draco truly believed his father loved him. It had never been in the gifts, the back-handed compliments, or even in the praise at a job well done. No, this was the evidence he'd wanted his entire life. That Lucius could put aside his beliefs on the matter and put Draco's desires above his own …. Draco had to swallow a lump in his throat.

"Will you be in France for the holiday?" Hermione ventured.

Draco bristled. The question evinced the fact that he had told Hermione about Cassie.

Neither parent seemed surprised, however. "It depends," replied Lucius.

"We're hopeful that we can spend Christmas here," added Narcissa.

For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Draco was shocked. "You mean, she'd be here?"

Narcissa beamed. "I hope so. If all goes well with the mission, of course. We have to wait until it's safe."

"Safe?" Draco repeated.

"Cissa," Lucius said warningly.

"What did you get Cassie for Christmas, Draco?" Narcissa asked.

He paled. "Oh, bollocks! I can't believe it; how did it slip my mind?"

Narcissa laughed. "It's understandable. You didn't know you had a sister until a few weeks ago. You can't be the perfect big brother overnight."

"Still," he protested, "it's a horrible oversight. I'll have to go shopping soon."

"We could go tomorrow," Hermione offered.

Draco gave her a warm smile. Her suggestion played perfectly into his existing plans. "That would be wonderful. I would appreciate your advice."

"I know Cassie will be happy with anything you give her," Narcissa assured him. "She adores you already."

"Be thankful you don't have to supply gifts for the entire Weasley family," Hermione consoled.

Lucius looked at her. "Oh, my."

She nodded. "That's … eight gifts for the Weasleys alone, plus spouses and kids. It's complete chaos."

"Undoubtedly." Lucius appeared troubled. "Do you really get a gift for everyone?"

"I try to." She shrugged. "Sometimes I'll get the children of one family one gift, and it's usually always something small."

Lucius shook his head. "Cissa, I've never been happier about having only one child for so many years."

"What do you mean?" his wife asked.

"Considering how much we spent on Draco's gifts, I can't imagine having seven children." He shuddered. "We'd be in the poor house!"

Narcissa flushed slightly and gave Hermione an apologetic look. "I'm afraid Draco was a bit spoiled as a boy."

"A bit?" Lucius cried. "My dear, you have a forgiving memory."

"I'm in the room, you know," Draco interjected. "There's no need to talk about me as though I weren't."

Narcissa dismissed him with a wave. "It's not as though Hermione didn't know you were a spoiled boy."

"All of Hogwarts knew," Hermione chimed.

Draco gave her a withering look. Lucius chuckled.

"And whose fault is it that I was spoiled?" Draco challenged.

"This soup is delicious," Narcissa commented smoothly. "Very creamy."

"That's what I thought," said Draco triumphantly. "Two can play at this game."

Hermione leaned slightly toward Narcissa. "Do you have any stories of when Draco was a boy? I'd love to hear them."

Now Draco glared at his girlfriend.

Narcissa beamed. "Do I? My, my, where to begin?"

"I want to hear every single one," Hermione said.

"Cissa," called Lucius, "don't forget to tell her about the flying-into-the-pig-sty incident."

Draco groaned. "Why are you doing this?"

"It's a mother's right," Narcissa chided. "I've waited twenty-five years for the chance to embarrass you in front of a woman, and I intend to take full advantage of it."

"We can't spend the entire evening talking about me," he grumbled.

"How many courses is the meal?" Hermione asked innocently.

"Three, but we can easily add one or two if it helps." Narcissa winked. "I suspect, son, that you might be wrong. We _can_ spend the night—indeed, days—talking about your exploits as a boy."

Draco twisted the napkin in his lap and squeezed. "I hope you don't expect me to sit here and listen."

Narcissa reached over and patted his hand. "This is a rite of passage, Draco. You can't escape it. Besides, wouldn't you rather we got most of it out of the way now? Don't worry; you'll get your revenge sometime with her parents."

He smirked. "That's true. Good point. All right, proceed."

"There's also the story of when he and Pansy got into the costume jewelry," Lucius remarked.

Draco felt his cheeks burn, and he glared at his father but said nothing.

"I think we should start with that one," Hermione suggested.

**ooo**

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Draco asked as he walked Hermione toward the front door. Lucius and Narcissa watched their progress from the dining room. He slipped his hand around hers.

"I did, surprisingly." She gave him a sideways look. "Did you?"

He gritted his teeth. "Need you ask? I loved sitting there while my parents told humiliating stories about me. There's nothing I'd rather do."

Hermione laughed. "I know you're going to make me suffer when it's my turn."

Draco smirked. "I intend to cash in much sooner than that."

"What do you mean?" she asked when they reached the door.

"Oh, you'll see." He opened the door and led her outside, spinning her into his arms. His expression was predatory. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open to speak when he Apparated them to his bedroom.

"Draco!" she breathed.

He growled and kissed her hard. She fought back, matching his intensity. Draco pushed her onto the bed. "I've been plotting my revenge for hours." With a flick of his wand, her robes vanished.

She gasped and her skin broke out in gooseflesh.

"Listen closely, my witch. I'm going to drive you exquisitely mad over the course of the next … oh, hour or so, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Hermione took his face in her hands, her eyes hungry but full of emotion. "Make it two?"

Draco grinned. "As you wish."

**ooo**

**End Notes:** I got a review yesterday from someone telling me it's been THREE weeks since the last chapter of Heavy was posted. OOPS! Since the last posting, I've moved twice. We are finally settled in a house we're renting, so that is awesome. And I think things will go more smoothly from now on. So sorry for the last posting!! Thanks to everyone for reading and for patiently waiting for this story. I really appreciate it!


	33. Everlasting Words

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. Just writing for fun.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 33 - - Everlasting Words**

**- - -**

Hogsmeade was covered in a fresh blanket of snow. The streets were full of people rushing around, finishing their holiday shopping. Festive lights and decorations hung on every inch of every shop, inviting the passersby inside with promises of delightful finds.

Draco and Hermione walked hand in hand down High Street from the train station, looking for somewhere to begin their search for the perfect gift for Draco's sister.

"She likes to read," he mumbled, glancing in the window of the first shop they came to. It was a small, quaint bookstore, one of Hermione's favorite stops in the wizarding town.

They stopped and Draco stared at the books in the window with a frown. "What do you think?"

Hermione joined him in staring. "I learned—eventually—that just because I like books doesn't mean they make good gifts for others. If you know of a book she's been wanting, then I would get it, but it would be hard to pick one out for her."

Draco nodded. "Good point." They continued down the street. "The thing is, she has everything she needs. My parents have seen to that. Plenty of clothes, books, school supplies …."

"Then you should get her something she doesn't need." Hermione pulled him to another shop and indicated the window. "If she's anything like most girls I know, she'd love a new set of robes. Something pretty, not her Beauxbatons uniform or the one from the Paris school."

"I wouldn't know where to begin." He furtively looked from one set to the next. "I know what I like, but I don't know what she would like. I haven't seen her in anything this nice."

"She seems to like blue, like your mother," Hermione suggested.

Draco was still skeptical. "I'm not sure. I don't know her size, and usually they like to measure you before selling you something."

"You're right." Hermione shrugged, looking around the street. "We should stop in Weasley's for sure. I bet there's something in there she would appreciate."

At that, Draco smiled. "I think you're right. And I'd wanted to get her something from Honeyduke's. They're bound to have different candies in France than they do here."

"Does she play Quidditch?" Hermione asked as they neared Weasley's.

Draco stopped suddenly and rounded on her slowly. "I have no idea. I know she couldn't have a broom at that school in Paris, and I doubt she got one upon entering Beauxbatons." His face lit up. "Hermione, that's it! I'll get her a broom and teach her to ride!"

Hermione beamed. "I think it's brilliant. You should make sure your parents aren't getting her one, though."

"Even if they did, I'll tell them to take theirs back. This is perfect." He started walking faster toward the Bartleby's Quidditch Supply & Outfitters. "We'll pop in here, buy the broom and maybe some accessories, then go back to Honeyduke's. We'll have lunch at the Three Broomsticks when we're done. How's that sound?"

"Excellent," she replied.

What she hadn't been prepared for was the Quidditch shop. When Draco said they would 'pop in,' she'd envisioned something much different than what actually happened. Hermione waited as patiently as she could while Draco looked at every broom in minute detail. For over an hour, he monopolized one of the salespeople, discussing the finer points of broom craftsmanship. He wanted to be sure it was a quality broom, but not too pricey; fast but safe; study but nimble. The broom had to be absolutely perfect for his sister, and nothing less would satisfy him.

By the time he slapped down the hundred and fifty Galleons and they walked out with a broom in tow, she was ready to pull her hair out. However, she said nothing. She could pass hours in a bookstore without batting an eye. And really, it was endearing to watch Draco take such care with his purchase. He seemed thrilled to have someone on whom he could dote.

"Are you hungry?" He energetically took her hand as they headed to Honeyduke's.

"Quite," she replied. "I hadn't expected to be in there so long."

He chuckled. "Sorry about that. I had to be sure."

Hermione squeezed his hand. "Just don't take so long at the candy store, and we'll be fine."

"Deal."

When they entered the shop, Draco went directly to the back wall. Hermione didn't follow directly, instead looking around the shop at the offerings. It had been awhile since she'd visited the sweet shop, and there were quite a few new candy and chocolate varieties for sale.

She was perusing the section of filled bonbons when someone called her attention.

"Professor?"

Hermione turned, surprised to see Sheetal and Evan. They were holding hands, and Sheetal had just started on a very large, color-changing lollipop. "Hello! This is a surprise! Doing some last minute shopping?"

Sheetal nodded. "Evan still hasn't found something for his mother."

Evan went slightly pink in the cheeks. "She's impossible to shop for. I've been looking for months!"

Sheetal gave him a playfully skeptical look, then turned back to Hermione. "How about you, Professor?"

"The same, actually. Draco is getting some candy for—" She had to stop herself from saying 'sister.' "—a family member."

Upon hearing Draco's name, Sheetal peered around the store looking for him. Hermione spotted him at the register with two huge bags of candy in tow. She chuckled.

"His … whole family," she amended.

"They must really like candy," Evan observed wryly.

"Do you have any exciting plans for the holiday?" Hermione asked.

Evan shook his head. "No. Just home with the family." He sounded slightly bitter about this arrangement.

Sheetal smiled. "My family is going to Switzerland for a few days to go skiing."

"I've been skiing in France," Hermione remarked. "Though I didn't develop any real love for it ."

"I doubt I will either. Sports aren't generally my thing." The Slytherin girl shrugged.

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "Mine either. I get on a broom only when I absolutely have to."

"I'm sure you could be a stellar flyer." Draco slipped his arm around her waist and nodded to the teens.

She rolled her eyes. "Not in this lifetime. Did you buy enough? There's still some candy left on the shelves over there."

"Very funny," he returned. Then, to the pair of students, he handed a small box each. "They had new flavors of sugar quills. They're my favorite. Happy Christmas."

"Thank you!" Sheetal released Evan's hand and accepted her box with a strange kind of awe.

"Yeah, thanks, sir," echoed Evan. "Er, Mr. Malfoy."

"Are you ready to go?" Draco asked Hermione. "Being around all these sweets is making me hungrier than I already was."

She nodded. "No candy until after lunch."

Draco smirked, then took her hand. "If you'll excuse us …."

"Nice seeing you, Professor!" Sheetal said with a wave. "Have a good holiday!"

"You too!" she called as Draco pulled her through the shop.

**ooo**

They were almost through with lunch when Hermione posed a question that had been on her mind since the night before. She set her fork down and folded her hands.

"Draco, I'm curious. What did you do?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "What did you say to your parents, your father in particular, to make them so … pleasant last night?"

Draco shrugged. "Oh, that. I … I just told my father in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't allow him to be the reason you and I don't work."

Hermione was silent for a few seconds, staring at him. "You said that?" she whispered.

He glanced up to see her expression torn. "Yes. Are you all right?"

She nodded and smiled at him, feeling silly for the tears she had to fight away. That he would make the effort—not that it was special or grand—and yet it was, considering her past—really touched her. "It's just … well … Charlie didn't."

"I know," he said gently. "You were worried about something similar happening with us, and I couldn't sit back and do nothing."

"Thank you." She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. "It doesn't seem like much, but it means a lot to me."

Draco reciprocated the squeeze and smiled. "You're welcome."

"I still can't believe your father was as relaxed as he was." Hermione resumed eating. "He seemed like a completely different person from the last time I had dinner at your house."

Draco sighed. "He has assured me that he's trying. Honestly, I don't know what to make of him anymore. I was so sure he was trying to become the next Dark Lord, and it turned out he was working for the Ministry."

"He's thrown you in so many directions since his release that I'm not surprised," Hermione remarked.

"He really has," Draco agreed. "I've seen more sides to him in the last month and a half than I saw in eighteen years of growing up. There's definitely more to him than I ever imagined. I also think he's starting to show me more, maybe trust me more." He frowned. "I'm still upset with him, but he's my father. I don't know quite how to feel or what to think."

Hermione set her fork down and swallowed her last bite. "Give yourself time. He's told you that he plans to reveal everything. Maybe reserve final judgment until everything is out in the open."

"I don't have much choice." He couldn't keep the bitterness entirely out of his voice. "I have to wait until he decides to tell me the rest."

Hermione started to speak, but he held up a hand.

"Let's talk about something else." Draco's eyes lit up as he reached for his money bag. "In fact, there's something I want to show you." He tossed the requisite coins on the table and stood, holding his hand out for her.

"Something you want to show me?" she repeated, accepting his hand and letting him lead her out of the pub.

"Yes. Well, in a way. You'll see." He had a bounce to his step that hadn't been there all day.

Hermione couldn't begin to guess what Draco was going to show her, but she let herself get caught up in his excitement.

When they turned down the street where her soon-to-be house stood, she felt slightly bewildered. She'd expected him to take her into a shop or to the lake.

"I know it's not quite Christmas," he began, taking slower steps as he walked, "but I think this is the best time to give you your gift."

Her eyes widened. "Oh! Draco! You don't have to do that." Her mind started whirling, trying to figure out what he could possibly have for her that he needed to walk down this particular street.

Unbidden, thoughts of rings and questions came to her mind. Was he going to ask her to marry him? Was such a thing possible so soon? Though it had only been a few months since they'd started working together, she felt as though she'd known him much longer. Perhaps it was a product of going through such heavy emotions along with him as he sought to discover the blackmailer and eventually learned about his sister.

Hermione believed in the deepest part of her that Draco needed his time away. Could she accept his proposal? If she did, would he still want go and spend time just discovering life? She suspected he wouldn't. Perhaps she'd have to postpone her answer until his return.

She was surprised at how much she wanted to say yes. Her entire being seemed to want to burst at the thought of marrying him. If his parents were as cordial as they had been the night before, maybe in time they could learn to accept, even respect, one another. In the case of Narcissa, Hermione wondered if they could even be friendly.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice Draco stop until he called her name.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" Her heart was pounding in her ears.

"You all right?"

She forced what she hoped was an easy smile. "Of course."

"Well, we're here." He bounced a little on the balls of his feet.

Hermione blinked and looked at her surroundings. They had stopped right in front of the gate that led into the front garden of her house. She frowned, confused at his choice of location for such a momentous event. "Here?"

Draco nodded, his grin enthusiastic, then reached into his robes.

Her questions disappeared as she realized she didn't care where in the world he asked.

The box he retrieved wasn't small and square but long and rectangular. Still, he might be attempting to hide his intentions until the very last moment, so she tried not to think too much about it.

"Here. Open it."

She tried not to let him see her hands shake as she took the package from his hand. It was beautiful, wrapped in silver paper with a gold ribbon. Gingerly, she removed the ribbon and lifted the lid off the box.

Inside was not a ring but a large, old-fashioned key with a red ribbon tied to the end. Confused, Hermione could only stare. She'd managed to convince herself that Draco was going to ask her to marry him in the space of just a few minutes. And not only that, she'd been prepared to accept him, albeit conditionally.

Disappointment flooded through her, and she fought back tears. Stupid, stupid tears! It was her own fault for being so sure of what she thought he'd give her.

Realizing that he was waiting for a reaction, she blinked furiously, then looked up at him. "A key?"

He was still grinning. "Not just any key. The key to your house."

Still slightly numb, she glanced past him to the house she wasn't supposed to own for another month or two. His words sank in. "My house. What did you do?"

"I … sped things along." Draco was more excited than she'd ever seen him. He was almost giddy. He took her hand. "Don't you want to see inside?"

"Wait. What do you mean, you 'sped things along?' There was a good reason why the owners needed to stay through January." She crossed her arms, giving him an expectant look.

"I took care of it," he insisted.

"You mean you paid them a lot of money to move out right before Christmas." She was angry! She didn't know exactly why, though, but her thoughts were starting to form. One minute, she'd been joyously anticipating a proposal; the next, she was furious at him for going behind her back and essentially bought the house for her.

For the first time, his exhilaration faltered. "We came to acceptable terms."

Hermione rolled her eyes, her fury mounting.

"Why don't we go inside?" Draco tried to take her hand but she wouldn't let him, so instead he grabbed her elbow. "I don't want you yelling at me on the street."

She let him lead her up the steps. Some of the anger she felt was directed at herself for letting her imagination get the better of her. They'd talked about their future only a few times, and not once had Draco seemed interested in marriage so soon. The impression she'd always been left with was that he'd wanted to wait a very long time.

"The key?" he prodded gently.

Hermione snatched the key from the box and put it into the lock. As soon as she did, the wards were reset, granting her entrance and acknowledging her as the new owner. She removed the key, now only good as a symbol, and pushed open the door.

The living room was entirely furnished, complete with pictures on the wall and a warm rug covering the hard floor. The furniture was new; it wasn't what she remembered seeing when she and Draco had visited before.

She walked in a few steps, looking around her in amazement. It was nicely done, she had to admit, though not exactly to her tastes. Very close, though.

"Well?" Draco closed the door behind her.

"It's … I don't know what to say." She couldn't decide if she was pleased or even angrier than she'd already been.

He took her statement as a good thing and smiled, his shoulders relaxing. "Have a look in the kitchen." Taking her hand, which hung limply by her side, he pulled her into the adjoining room.

The kitchen, too, was completely furnished and looked as though someone had been living there a long time.

Draco left her in the doorway and went around behind the counter that separated the kitchen from the eating area. "I had the most fun with this room. Everything you could possibly want or need for cooking is here, and a few things you'd probably never know existed. I couldn't pass them up."

She managed to eke out a whispered response. "Wow."

"The laundry area is all set up, too." He came back to her, his smile more confident now. "Want to see upstairs? I didn't do a whole lot." Without waiting for her reply, he gently pulled her up the stairs. "I left Weasley's room alone, and I didn't want to move my things into the main bedroom until you'd seen it."

She followed listlessly into the master bedroom, enormously relieved to see the walls and space barren.

"I did put a few things in the loft area." Draco released her hand and started climbing the spiral staircase. "I got you the entire fifty-volume Encyclopedia of Magic, which takes up almost an entire bookcase up here."

When his head disappeared into the loft space, Hermione felt strangely close to panicking. She didn't know why, but she needed to get out. "Draco, I-I can't—"

She turned and hurried out of the room, running as fast as she could down the stairs. She was almost to the front door when he caught up to her and grabbed her wrist to prevent her from fleeing.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Concern was etched on his face.

Glancing around the room, she still couldn't think clearly. "I … this is just … too much."

Draco hesitantly smiled. "Nonsense. Happy Christmas. I hope you like it."

She shook her head, pulling her arm free and crossing both arms over her chest. "I don't."

The smile fell off his face, replaced with confusion and hurt. "You … don't like it."

"Why did you do this?" she asked, trying her best not to cry. Merlin, she felt ridiculously, uncharacteristically irrational and emotional.

He frowned. "For Christmas. For you."

"No. I mean, why did you do _this_?" She repeated.

"Why the house?" He shrugged. "I couldn't think of the perfect thing to get you, but then this idea struck me. I know how much you love this house, and now you can come here whenever you like. Sooner than you'd originally planned."

Hermione let a single tear fall. "And the furniture?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair, his expression bewildered. "I guess I just got carried away?"

"You shouldn't have. And I don't mean that in the 'aww, you shouldn't have but really you should have' kind of way," she said angrily.

"You're … angry with me." He seemed to be trying to comprehend how such a thing could be possible.

"Yes. You had no right to interfere with my purchase of this house!" she cried.

He gave her a look of disbelief. "Interfere? I just sped things up so you could—"

"So _I_ could?" she interrupted. "No, I don't think you did this for me."

"I'll take care of the extra month's payment, if that's what you're worried about," he snapped.

Hermione barked a laugh. "Can you even begin to understand why I'm upset?"

Draco huffed impatiently. "Perhaps if you'd explain it to me, but at the moment, I can't possibly figure it out."

"_I_ was buying this house. For _me_. All on my own." She uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips. "I was going to let you and Ron live here, but it was _my_ house."

"It still is!" he cried. "Your name is on everything!"

"But _you_ made this happen." Her tone was accusatory. "_You_ somehow convinced the owners to move out much earlier than they'd planned. That probably cost you quite a bit, and considering the strain you've been under until recently, I have to wonder how you did it."

He scowled. "I've been out from under the blackmailing for over a month! Plenty of time to save up for this—"

"They didn't have anywhere to go until the end of January," she continued, ignoring his attempts to explain. "So you must have put them up somewhere in the meantime. You went behind my back and bought the house for me! You paid all the costs for closing, not to mention all this-this stuff inside!"

Draco threw up his hands. "Well, you're welcome to pay me back if that makes you happy."

She glared at him. "I intend to repay you for the things I had already planned on paying, but the extra expenses of getting the owners out early, putting them up somewhere, getting all the appropriate people involved to sign the papers …. I won't be able to afford all of that for a long time. And everything inside the house has to go."

He gaped at her, incredulous. "Everything has to go?"

"Did you ever stop to think that I might have furniture already?" she demanded, folding her arms again.

At his silent scowl, she continued. "I lived on my own for two years before taking the position at Hogwarts. What I have might not be as nice as what you've put in, but it's mine." She ignored the voice in her head that told her she sounded petty and spoiled.

"Fine," he growled, "I'll take everything back."

She jutted her chin in the air. "Good. I want it all gone, down to the last unnecessary kitchen utensil."

He glowered at her and walked to the doorway between the living room and kitchen. "You're being absurd. It's a _gift_."

"For who?" she argued. "I certainly can't use anything in here until school is out!"

"I thought you could come here on weekends or holidays!" he cried.

Her eyes went wide as another thought entered her mind. "You mentioned your things—you did this for _you_!"

Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're outrageous." He gave her a scathing look and marched past her, heading for the door.

Hermione whipped out her wand and locked it just as he was reaching for the handle. "You're not leaving until we're finished."

"I think we're finished," he snapped. "You don't like it. Fine. What's done is done, and I'll do as you demanded and return it all."

She stalked over to him and crossed her arms again. "Admit that you did this for you, not me."

"Where are you getting this ridiculous notion—?"

"You don't want to live at the Manor anymore, right?" She didn't wait for an answer. "You've been staying with me every night since you got back. You had no intention of returning to the Manor to live, and when I said you could move in here with Ron, that made you happy. Only that couldn't happen for awhile, so what were you supposed to do? Maybe you didn't want to stay with me until then."

Draco scowled.

"You didn't want to wait, so you did what you had to do in order to get what _you_ wanted. Out of the Manor. Right?"

"I did it for _you_," he said through gritted teeth.

She raised an eyebrow. "Can you tell me truthfully that the benefit for you never crossed your mind?"

He only scowled harder and said nothing, breaking her gaze to stare over her shoulder, his jaw set.

"Merlin, Draco! Are you so self-absorbed?" Hermione took a few steps away from him. "Why didn't you ask me first? If you wanted out of the Manor so badly, I might have agreed to let you do this!"

"It was my intention to surprise you." His voice was flat, almost calm, and his demeanor was icy and closed. He'd put up the walls she'd seen when they'd first started interacting.

"I'm surprised, that's for sure," she bit out. "I thought this relationship meant something to you."

His eyes snapped to hers, fiery despite his blank countenance. "Don't."

"Don't what? Don't question this? Us?"

She'd never once doubted his intentions toward her, doubted his regard for her. Despite the occasional pangs of jealousy she felt, he'd never done anything to make her distrust him. What he did in securing her house early so that he could move out of the Manor—was it a one-time thing? Or was this kind of manipulation something she could expect from him in the future? Though he'd long expressed his regret for the things he'd done in the war, he was still Draco Malfoy. He still had exceptional doses of the qualities that got him sorted into Slytherin.

They stood glaring at each other. Hermione wondered what was going through his head.

"You are being irrational," he said icily.

"Fine. Don't talk to me then. I'm through yelling and getting nothing but glares and scowls in response."

His face remained impassive.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm leaving." With a flick of her wand, she unlocked the door and moved around Draco. He stood in place, not even glancing at her as she passed.

She paused with her fingers on the handle, not quite sure what it meant if she left without another word.

"Dinner is at seven?" His tone was clipped but slightly uncertain.

That's right! They were supposed to go to Harry and Ginny's that night. Well, it would certainly make for an interesting evening. "Yes." Her response was just as short, and she felt slightly better about leaving.

Draco didn't speak to her again as she opened the door and stepped through. Hermione waited a few seconds, wondering if he'd come after her, but decided she wasn't ready to talk to him even if he did.

**ooo**

Hermione went back to Hogwarts, but she didn't want to stay there. Her suite reminded her too much of good times with Draco, and she wanted to get away from thinking about him for a few hours. She decided to spend the afternoon at the Burrow, the last place Draco would show up. If Draco did come looking for her, by chance, he wouldn't find her. The time apart would probably do them good, would give them time to think about what had happened.

Hermione was almost certain she'd overreacted, but when she'd realized _why_ he had pushed and bought the house early, nothing else had mattered. Not that she could blame him for wanting to get out of his house, but he should have come to her first, explained what he wanted to do. Maybe then she would have agreed to it. Or she'd have let him move into her suite temporarily until they could finalize plans for the house.

The furniture … it had felt too much like Draco was trying to claim the house as his own, to put his touch on it. But Hermione was buying that house all on her own; it was something _she _wanted that had nothing to do with him. Well, except for the fact that her relationship with him was what got her thinking about the house in the first place.

Still, it was to be hers and hers alone, something that she had accomplished by herself. Draco's interference had ruined all of that, and even if she did pay him back every Knut, it would almost feel as though he had helped her get the house. As though she were repaying a loan of some kind.

Hermione sighed and set about making herself a cup of tea before she left for the Burrow. There was no point in dwelling on what Draco had done. Overreaction or no, she was still upset about it.

More than anything, she wanted him to understand why. Nothing could be done to change his actions—the house was hers now—but if he at least recognized her feelings, her anger, her view on the matter, she supposed that would be enough. It would have to be; she didn't want to be angry with him for any length of time.

After finishing her tea, Hermione gathered her coat and traveling cloak and left for the Burrow.

**ooo**

Hermione arrived at Harry and Ginny's at quarter to seven. She didn't know what to expect from Draco—was he already inside, would he be waiting, would he be late?—but she felt better, calmer, clearer. Almost certain she could make it through dinner without incident.

She stayed hear the gate, however, hesitant to go much further into the garden. Then movement to her left caught her attention. Draco's hair was unmistakable, especially with the moon so bright. His hair practically shone in the pale light.

"Hello," he said stiffly, hands in his pockets.

Hermione was so relieved and happy to see him that she forgot she was still upset with him and almost smiled. But that didn't last long.

"Hi." Then she was mad at him all over again.

"I'd hoped you would be here sooner," he said shortly.

"Why?"

"So we could … talk before dinner." He spoke as though the answer should have been obvious.

"We'll have to do that later." She started to walk toward the house.

Draco kept pace with her. His tone was hushed when he spoke, as though worried someone might be listening in. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"We pretend. We're very good at it." Hermione knocked without waiting for a response.

Draco grumbled. "In case you've forgotten, I never had to pretend much."

She ignored the way his words made her stomach swoop and the fact that the same has been true for her. "I have every confidence in your ability."

The door opened then, and Hermione plastered a smile on her face. "Hi, Ginny!"

"Long time no see." Ginny winked. "Hello, Draco. Come in, please."

Hermione sensed him give her a look at Ginny's comment. "Good evening, Ginny."

They followed her into the house and saw James running down the hall, a huge grin on his face. He went to Hermione, and she picked him up, greeting him with kisses on his face. The boy giggled and tried to push her away.

Ginny smiled. "James, this is Draco. Draco, my son James."

Hermione wondered if he'd ever spent any time with young children. She held James so that Draco could see his face.

"It's nice to meet you, James." He smiled.

James covered his eyes with his hands and buried his face in Hermione's shoulder.

Ginny laughed. "He's shy around new people. By the end of the night, he'll be crawling all over you, asking you for broom rides. Come on, Harry's in the kitchen."

The evening went surprisingly well, considering Hermione and Draco weren't really speaking. She thought they'd manage to fool Harry and Ginny, but after dinner, when Harry and Draco went outside into the magically warmed yard with James, Ginny pulled her into a back room and shut and locked the door.

"Is everything all right?" she asked in a whisper, despite the men being outside.

Hermione blinked, startled by the question. She wrapped her arms around herself as though cold. "Everything's fine. I don't know what you mean."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Right. And Dad doesn't have a stash of Muggle circuit boards hidden from my mother."

Hermione frowned, supposing the statement had to be true from Ginny's sarcastic tone.

"I can tell there's tension. You haven't broken up, have you?" Her voice was almost accusatory.

"No!" Hermione cried vehemently. "No, we aren't broken up. Just … a row, is all. People have them all the time."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ginny asked.

Hermione hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't know. I think I know what needs to be said, we just haven't had the chance to talk about it yet."

"Are you sure?" Ginny pressed. "I've had lots of experience with rows. All kinds of them." She smiled sympathetically. "Is this your first?"

She nodded. "Yes. Well, we've argued in the past, but nothing like this."

Ginny smiled. "You know you want to talk about it. So go on, quick, before they come back inside."

Hermione sighed and filled Ginny in. She even confessed her feelings on the whole fight, the fact that she knew she'd overreacted, and that she'd convinced herself Draco was going to ask her to marry him.

By the time she finished, Ginny was watching her with a smirk on her face. "Wow, what a tough day you've had. Your boyfriend bought you a house and furnished it. No wonder you're so angry."

Hermione scowled at her friend. "I told you why I'm upset."

Ginny chuckled. "I know, I know. Just giving you a hard time. I don't think this row is going to be the end of you. You're a very independent woman, and he stepped over that line you've drawn around yourself. I doubt it even crossed his mind."

Hermione sat heavily on an ugly chair that could only have been Harry's. "I know that. I do. But when it happened … it was just too much, all at once, and …." She trailed off.

"And you'd been getting ready to accept his proposal," Ginny finished.

She groaned. "There's no way I can tell him that part of my reaction. It's completely my fault. We've only been together three months—what could I possibly have been thinking? Not only that he would propose, but that I would consider saying yes! After such a short time! I'm more practical than that."

Ginny laughed. "But you're also in love with him, aren't you?"

The question gave Hermione pause. She was, wasn't she? At least, as in love with him as she could be at this early stage in their relationship. She had so much more to learn about him, more that could make her fall deeper, more that might hurt her. He had gone through so much in his life in the same three months they'd been together that it couldn't possibly be an accurate predictor of their future.

Still, she couldn't deny Ginny's question. "Yes," she said with a whisper. "Merlin help me."

"Does he know?" Ginny's tone was gentle.

Hermione shook her head. "I doubt he feels the same way. He's been so closed for so long that I imagine it would take a long time for him to open his heart enough to let me in that much."

"Or, he's been so closed that he's desperate to let someone in," Ginny offered.

"Then I could have been anyone." Her tone was despondent.

Ginny put her hand on Hermione's shoulder. "No. That's absolutely not true. Draco is crazy about you, for you, because of _you_. Not because you just happen to be there."

But how could she be sure? Trusting Draco's word wasn't good enough. For all she knew, he could convince himself that he cared deeply for her, when really, he was just happy to have someone. More than ever, she was convinced she had to let him go and hope he came back. How else could she be secure in his affections?

"I hope so." Hermione stood. "We'd better go. Don't want them wondering where we are."

**ooo**

Draco and Hermione said goodnight to Harry and Ginny and walked down the front steps into the yard. She glanced at him to find him smiling slightly. They walked in silence toward the gate, and Draco casually took her hand in his, threading his fingers between hers.

It was the first time they'd touched since that morning. The gesture was sweet and simple, but it was wonderfully reassuring. Sure, they were fighting, but it didn't change the way they felt.

When they passed through the gate and out of sight of the Potters' windows, Draco stopped, halting her progress as well.

"Let's talk?" he said.

"Yes," she blurted. "Let's."

"Where should we go? I'd offer the Manor, but my parents are preparing for tomorrow night." He frowned. "I don't want to be within easy reach of either of them right now."

Hermione's eyes widened. "I completely forgot about tomorrow night." Then she smiled slowly. "We could go to the house. Have you returned anything yet?"

Draco scoffed. "No. Today? Are you joking?"

"Good. Then we'll have somewhere to sit." She winked and Disapparated, hoping he would follow.

Hermione arrived in the front yard and strode toward the house. The simple wards allowed her passage, as they did Draco when he followed seconds later. "I can spend some time over the break working on new wards," she said, pushing the door open. "I want better security, and they need to be programmed to recognize you."

Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to the doorway, pushing her gently against the frame. He was wearing a slightly mischievous smirk. "You're not kicking me out?"

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the way his nearness made her heart pound and the way his lips were begging to be kissed. "No, silly. I said you could live here, with Ron, and I'm not backing out."

He glanced at her mouth, and Hermione willed him to kiss her. For a moment, she thought he might, but then backed away and entered the house.

Hermione stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, gathering her traitorous wits. She shouldn't want to kiss him until _after_ they'd worked through their problem.

She shut the door and entered the living room, where Draco was already seated in an armchair by the empty fireplace. She took the spot on the sofa furthest from him but turned her body so that she was facing him.

Neither spoke at first; Hermione didn't know quite what to say.

Finally Draco sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I should have come to you before buying the house. I'm sorry."

She sighed. "Draco—"

"Would you really have considered letting me buy the house early if I'd talked to you first?" he interrupted hastily.

It was a strange place to begin, but at least they were talking. Hermione frowned. "I can't say for sure. I'd like to think I would have at least thought about it seriously."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I just assumed you'd say no. Because of money and the previous owners."

"It would have been hard for me to agree to your plan," she admitted. "But that's not what bothers me most about all of this."

"Oh?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "Is it the furniture?"

Hermione laughed lightly. "No. Draco … I was buying this house. For _me_. By myself. I've never done anything like this on my own before, and I was looking forward to proving to myself that I could. Buying a house is no small feat. I had a little saved away, I worked out a budget, and I made I happen. On my terms, my time. But you just swept in with your clout and your gold and negated all of my hard work."

He stared at her for a few moments, hard.

"Haven't you ever wanted to do something on your own?" she continued. "To prove something to yourself?"

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, when he spoke. "Yes. I have."

She stopped mid-thought, realizing he must be thinking of his task their sixth year. "That's not quite what I meant. You want to leave the family business, right? You want to travel and see and learn for yourself. It's like that. I wanted to buy this house because I, Hermione Granger, could do it and make it work."

Draco let out a long breath. "I do understand."

"Really?" she asked quietly.

"I understand wanting to do something just for you. I'm not sure I get why you reacted the way you did." He shrugged.

Hermione's heart started thudding again. Should she tell him everything? No, it wasn't the right time for such a conversation. He'd barely been able to reassure her the last time they'd talked about the future, and she doubted much had changed. He certainly hadn't been thinking of marriage.

"I admit I overreacted," she began. "It was … just so much. The house, and then the furniture, and you were so excited but I felt … trapped and confused. This … all of this … was the last thing I ever would have expected. When you said you wanted to show me something … I got something in my head is all, and when that wasn't it … I felt out of sorts."

Draco's expression went from a frown to a skeptical look to a piercing stare. "What did you get in your head?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, avoiding his gaze. "Just … not a house."

"Hermione. Please tell me what you thought I was going to show you." He used the tone that probably got him whatever he wanted from women. It was deep and smooth, firm but slightly imploring. However, she had developed something of a thick skin when it came to him, and she wasn't about to fall for it. Never mind how it made her insides turn to jelly.

She shook her head. "It was nothing, Draco. Drop it."

He opened his mouth as though he would try to press her more, but seemed to think better of it. "For now."

Hermione shivered, and it occurred to her that they were sitting in the house in the middle of December with no heat on. Neither of them had taken off their outer cloaks or warm coats.

Draco noticed and stood without a word to start a fire in the fireplace. He cast an amplifying spell to quickly spread the heat through the room and returned to his seat.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He was silent for a few moments. "Would you explain your aversion to the furniture?"

Hermione actually laughed. His expression was too serious; it didn't match the question. "I have nothing against the items you purchased. Together, with the house and everything … it felt as though you were moving in before I even had a chance to blink."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "That goes back to what you said earlier. About this being _your_ house, _your_ venture."

"Exactly." She was immensely pleased. "And I already had furniture, so some of this was unnecessary."

"It's not as though I could have asked you," he grumbled. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

She raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly in amusement. "You are Draco Malfoy. You have untold Galleons at your fingertips, and you're a former Slytherin. Surely you could have figured something out."

"Touché." He sighed. "I suppose I got so caught up in the idea that I didn't consider alternatives. Do you really want me to return everything?"

Hermione's resolve in this area had started to waver as soon as she'd sat on the surprisingly comfortable Chesterfield sofa. It was soft, chocolate brown leather and seemed designed just for her. Just sitting on the sofa was relaxing, and she could picture long hours spent with a book by the fire.

"The sofa stays," she declared. "As I recall, you had a slight aversion to the orange sofa I own."

The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Draco's mouth. "Slight aversion? That hardly covers it. Anything else?"

Hermione glanced around the room. She didn't particularly care for the side chairs and tables he'd chosen. Craning her neck around, she peered into the dining room. The view wasn't enough. She got up and went into the next room for a better look, taking a seat in one of the chairs so she could admire the table.

The table top appeared to be a solid plank of wood, five feet long by three feet wide. It was beautiful, stained a dark, golden color. Hermione trailed a finger along the grain, admiring the slightly wavy table surface that followed the path of the wood.

The chairs, however, were nothing special.

Hermione glanced up to find that Draco had moved into the doorway and was watching her.

"I love the table."

"But …."

"The chairs have to go."

He nodded once. "What will you sit on?"

"I have chairs," she replied defensively.

Draco chuckled softly and crossed his arms.

Hermione stood and went to the kitchen. One by one, she started examining the contents of the cabinets, remembering how excited Draco had been earlier when showing her this room.

As he'd told her, he had stocked the cabinets with everything she might possibly need. But he'd done more than that; he'd taken the time to organize everything, and since he knew his way around a kitchen, it was a very logical system. It was obvious that Draco had put a lot of effort and time into his gift.

Tears pricked her eyes. He really had done this for her. The fact that it simultaneously met his goal of getting out of the Manor was only a side benefit.

Not wanting him to see her reaction, Hermione continued rummaging through a drawer that contained a number of kitchen gadgets whose uses she couldn't even guess. By the time she'd finished, she'd composed herself, though she still felt extreme gratitude toward him.

After closing the last cabinet, she smiled at him. "This is amazing."

Draco tossed his hair out of his face with a jerk of his head and shrugged. "I had fun."

"That much is obvious. Draco … thank you."

He met her gaze then, and his eyes softened. "You're welcome. Happy Christmas."

Once again, tears filled her eyes, and she could only speak in a whisper. "I haven't got anything for you yet."

Draco's answering expression was one of amusement, and he walked slowly toward her. "Oh? You've quite a reputation to live up to, you know. According to … everyone, you always give the best gifts."

"I know." She was still whispering. "I'm sorry."

Draco smirked. He'd reached her by now, and she'd backed up a few inches so she was leaning against the counter.

"You know I don't need anything you could wrap in a box and put under a tree." He gently touched her face with his long fingers.

"I know, but … I want to get you something. I've been shopping a dozen times, but nothing—"

"Shh." He pressed a finger to her lips, quieting her. "I don't care." Then his smirk grew. "Actually, there is _one_ thing I wouldn't mind to see wrapped and under my tree …."

It took her a minute to translate his predatory expression. She rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the blush that crept onto her cheeks. "Oh, don't you worry about that. You know I'm all yours."

Instantly, the playfulness was gone. Draco's eyes were intense as he gazed into hers. Then he slowly lowered his head, brushing his lips over hers in an agonizingly sweet and slow kiss. It wasn't long before she wanted his to speed things up, but whenever she tried, he resisted, keeping the kiss nice and languid.

When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard. He had a hand behind her neck, the tips of his fingers threaded in her hair. His eyes were blazing as he stared at her, and she thought she might melt any second. But she couldn't look away.

"Hermione …." He stopped, swallowed, then closed his eyes for a few long moments before opening them again. "I-I love you."

"What?" At least she'd managed to stifle the gasp that had threatened to escape.

"It's true, I can't help it, and keeping it inside is starting to cause me physical pain." He was avoiding her eyes now.

He loved her?

Hermione's heart was attempting to burst through her chest, and she felt slightly numb around the edges. "Draco—"

"Don't say anything." His voice was almost pleading. "I don't need you to say a word. I simply … couldn't _not_ tell you anymore. It's become increasingly difficult not to blurt it out at the most random times. I don't expect anything from you, I know you're still working through your feelings for Weasley, and—"

She kissed him. Hard and furious, hands clutching at his robes. She needed to feel this, wanted to taste the lips that had just confessed his love to her. He didn't hesitate to respond, but she could sense his hesitation at the same time.

That wouldn't do.

Hermione pulled back and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "Listen to me. Listen good. I love you too. All right?"

He stared at her, blinking, clear disbelief on his face. "How is that possible?"

"Draco. Now you're being absurd." She wanted to shake him.

"But you were in love with Weasley only a few months ago," he protested.

"No, I loved Charlie two years ago. I loved the idea of Charlie and me, but—I don't want to talk about him right now!" She let out a frustrated groan. "This is about you and me."

"I thought it was too soon."

Hermione could tell that he was reluctantly starting to let the idea that she could love him back take root in his mind. "There are no timing rules on these things. Sometimes, it just … happens. When you're not expecting it."

Draco let out a chuckle. "No kidding. This came out of nowhere for me."

All of Hermione's insecurities that she'd experienced over Draco came back, one in particular. She bit her lip. "Then … are you sure? Maybe I'm just … novel."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and gently kissed her forehead. "That is indisputable. But I don't … love … you simply because it's been six years. Don't think I haven't asked myself the same question. Only you—and I suppose some of the blame lies with that white dress—have turned my head. Now all I see is you."

She smiled unabashedly and tried to kiss him, but he stopped her. She tried not to pout. "What?"

"You really do love me?" His eyes searched her face one last time in disbelief. He was frowning slightly.

Hermione unhooked his arms from around her and took both of his hands in hers. "I really do."

Draco slowly smiled, then swiftly released her hands and grasped her face in his. When he kissed her, it was with the fiery intensity she'd wanted but that he'd held back before. Now his lips were searing, demanding, and within seconds, she was breathless.

She gasped when he ended his assault on her mouth, only to feel him trail a line of hot kisses down her neck. He reached her shirt and pulled it back, revealing more of her skin. Hermione tilted her head to oblige him better access, feeling slightly weak in the knees. They were standing in the kitchen, after all, and though she was leaning against the counter, she didn't think she'd be able to stand much longer.

"Draco." His name came out breathy and shaky, like a wisp of wind rushing through tall grass.

He smirked, not pausing in his task of undoing the buttons of her shirt. He kissed her fully again, but slowed when she gently put her hand on his chest.

"Not … the kitchen," she managed to force out.

"Then where?" He'd finished with the buttons and was running his hands all over her skin, his eyes hungry.

She took a breath. "I don't care."

He nodded, kissed her, then wrapped his arms around her.

"Wait, the fire," she said.

Draco flicked his wand at the fireplace and the light flickered out. Then he Apparated them, arriving in his room at the Manor. Draco didn't miss a beat as he dimmed the lights, locked the door, and set a magical 'do-not-disturb' ward on the room.

Draco looked at her then, really looked into her eyes. "I do love you, Hermione."

"And I love you," she whispered, her heart nearly full to bursting. At any moment, she feared she would wake up from this wonderful dream and discover that the day hadn't even begun yet.

"We'll have to christen your new house at some point," he said with a smirk as he led her to the bed.

She laughed lightly, slightly dazed by the look he was giving her. He'd given her some intense gazes before, but now she suspected he'd always been holding something back. Now, everything he felt was poured into his eyes, the relaxed set of his jaw, the easy smile. He finally felt free to share his whole heart with her. It was liberating and frightening, too.

Love—being entrusted with another person's heart—was such an awesome responsibility. She was honored to receive it from Draco. Unlike her previous loves, this one truly felt like a gift, something precious, something that was only, and _could_ only, be meant for her.

**ooo**

**End Notes:** The Chesterfield sofa was borrowed with permission from somandalicious and her most fabulous story, "cake." I highly recommend it if you haven't read it. Title taken from a song by the Bee Gees called "Words."

Apologies for the late posting of this chapter. I hope to get chapter 34 up in 2 weeks instead of 3. I've got some other stories going for various communities on LiveJournal which will be posted here soon as well. Thanks for your patience.


	34. All the King's Horses

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. Just writing for fun.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 34 - - All the King's Horses**

**- - -**

Hermione kissed him, then brushed the shoulders of his robes. "Your father will be fine."

Draco nodded numbly, barely aware of what he was agreeing with. He couldn't think straight for all the anxiety he was feeling. Tonight was the night his father suspected would be the end of seven years of planning, scheming, and deception. Fifteen minutes remained before midnight, and he was getting ready to join his mother downstairs. To wait.

"There's a plan, remember?" she continued. "And if the Order of the Phoenix is involved, you know it's a good one."

He tried to force a smile but felt a grimace escape instead.

"I will be here whenever you return," she assured him. "I've got papers I can grade, books to read …. Take your time. Wake me when you come in if I'm asleep."

He nodded, trying to swallow what tasted like bile that had risen in his throat.

"Draco?"

When he looked into her eyes, she was smiling. It might have eased his nerves a tiny fraction, but only for an instant.

"Remember to breathe."

He exhaled automatically, surprised at how much air he released. "Thank you."

"You were starting to turn blue." Almost hesitantly, she threaded her arms around him and laid her head in his chest.

After a moment, he rested his head on hers.

"Your heart is pounding," she whispered, placing a hand over where the organ resided.

"It feels like I swallowed a drum set."

There was nothing more she could say, nothing that would relieve the anxiety and pressure inside him. Perhaps she knew this because she didn't say anything, just stood with her arms around him. It gave him more strength than a thousand well-chosen words could have.

Eventually, he knew he had to go. He tilted Hermione's chin up so he could kiss her, once, softly.

She squeezed his hand and walked him to the door of his bedroom. He took a deep breath before opening it, then stepped into the hall. Without looking back, he started down the hall, making his way toward his mother's sitting room.

It was difficult to believe that only the night before, he had confessed the depth of his feelings to Hermione. He hadn't meant to, had been surprised when the desire to say the words had been so strong.

He was glad he had, of course. For some reason, she loved him too. But just as it had when they'd started a real relationship, it would take time for this … development … to really sink in, for the weight and meaning of what they'd exchanged to hit him. He'd never been in love like this before, and he was quickly realizing that what he'd thought was love couldn't touch what he felt for Hermione.

It took him a moment to realize he'd been standing outside the sitting room for a few moments, lost in thought. He shook his head.

The door was open, so he entered with a polite knock on the doorframe as he did.

Narcissa was sitting on the same sofa she'd been on the last time, only this time she wasn't reading. Her posture was rigid, her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and she was staring into space. She didn't appear to have heard him knock.

"Mother?"

She looked at him, visibly relaxing as she smiled. "Draco."

He debated about where he should sit and decided to join her on the sofa. The opposite end provided him the best view out the window, which he now knew directly faced the area where the meetings took place. All was dark and silent outside.

A quick glance at the clock revealed they had five minutes to wait before midnight.

"Do you really think it will be tonight?" Draco asked quietly, despite knowing the answer from her body language.

"Lucius is nearly certain. Everything is ready."

"Do you know the plan?" He wasn't sure why he was talking; he could barely hear for the buzzing in his head.

She nodded solemnly. "But so much can still go wrong."

The brief conversation ended there. Draco couldn't stop looking at the clock over the next three minutes until it struck midnight. Then he turned to stare out the window—not knowing what he hoped to see.

They didn't have to wait very long. Ten minutes later, Draco saw a burst of light in the distance.

"Mother! Come look!"

Narcissa moved from the sofa to stand by the window, worrying her hands as she peered into the black.

They were drawn to the scene, unable and unwilling to look away. The flashes of light were growing in frequency and intensity, culminating in what appeared to be an explosion. They saw a large blast, heard a low, rumbling boom, and even felt a small tremor.

Narcissa jumped at the sound, her face paling.

The battle continued after that, but Draco's attention was no longer on the battle. He stood mechanically, his eyes gazing unfocused toward the fray, so that the distant clash was blurred.

He didn't know how much time passed when they heard sounds in the hallway. Draco whipped around, wand drawn, and listened as footsteps approached.

Narcissa, too, had her wand out, but she wasn't in strike position. She merely held it in her hand.

Draco raised his arm as the person reached the door, only to stare in shock at the man who walked in.

"Oh!" Narcissa cried, running toward the messy-haired, spectacled man.

He had something draped over his arm, but Draco paid it no attention. "Potter?"

"What's happened?" blurted Narcissa. "Where's Lucius? Is he all right? Was anyone hurt? What was that loud noise? Is Lucius all right?"

Harry held up a hand to stop her and smiled. "He's fine. He's right where he's supposed to be: waiting to be seen taken to Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" Draco repeated.

Narcissa closed her eyes and sat heavily in the sofa, her hands shaking. "He's all right?"

"He's fine," Harry assured her. "The plan—that part, anyway—went exactly the way we'd worked out."

Tired of being ignored and left out, Draco marched toward Harry. "What's this 'we' business, Potter? What did you have to do with this? Why are you here?"

Harry gestured to the sofa, but Draco only crossed his arms and stared. Harry shrugged and went to sit in an armchair, folding the grey, silvery cloth in his lap.

"Start from the beginning," said Narcissa, smiling for the first time that night.

Harry nodded. "Arthur told me you stopped by, so I know you're aware of the plan."

Draco put his hands on the back of the sofa and slightly leaned his weight on them. "Two members of the Order were charged with using a Portkey to get my father to safety."

"That's correct. Kingsley and Bill were to go directly for your father and get him out. However, they were only part of a larger strategy." Harry grinned, and it annoyed Draco. "They were only the secondary extraction team, should the first one fail."

He paused, and Draco rolled his eyes. "What was the first plan?"

"I've been there, at every meeting, hidden beneath this cloak, ready to act." Harry patted the object in his lap. "I also had a pressure-activated Portkey, and my job was to get your father out. If I failed, Bill and Kingsley would get him."

"You were … there?" Draco thought back to the two meetings he'd witnessed.

Harry nodded. "I was. I have to admit, I was surprised to see you that one time. Thought for a moment I'd figured you all wrong, but then I realized you'd just found out what was going on. Or, part of it, anyway."

It rankled Draco to be reminded that he didn't have the whole story yet, didn't know fully what was going on, while others around him did.

"Why did no one detect your presence?" Draco asked, indicating the cloak. "Surely they checked for invisibility cloaks."

Harry smirked. "Not this particular cloak." Then he paused, regarding Draco intently. "Why don't you ask Hermione about it sometime? Tell her I said it was all right."

Draco scowled. "Whatever. Why you?" No wonder Harry had told Draco he would need friends; he'd known what was coming.

"I'm still in the Order of the Phoenix," Harry said proudly. "This mission was our last, as now there are no more followers of Voldemort at large. At least, the official ones. There will always be people who sympathize with him to some degree."

Narcissa sighed. "I don't know if that will ever change."

No one spoke for a few minutes. Draco didn't feel like getting into a philosophical discussion with Harry Potter at nearly one in the morning.

Besides, he still had questions that needed answers. "So you got my father out safely. Why is he waiting to go to prison?"

"He's waiting to be _seen_ going to prison," Narcissa corrected. "The others who are captured tonight have to believe that Lucius was captured as well."

"But when he's out walking around tomorrow, won't people notice?" Draco asked.

"Of course. But by then, all the remaining Death Eaters will be in Azkaban, never to set foot outside its walls again." Narcissa patted the seat beside her. "Sit, Draco."

He still refused.

"There will be plenty of people who hate Lucius for what he's done tonight," the woman continued, "but those who might retaliate will be locked away. Naturally, someone else might try to harm us, but that's nothing new. Once the story is printed about what Lucius has done, I hope that many people who have mistrusted us since the end of the war, despite your efforts, Draco, will forgive us."

"I think people want to forgive," chimed Harry. "They just need a big enough reason to, depending on how wronged they feel. I'm sure this will satisfy most, if not all those who still doubt your family."

Narcissa smiled regally. "Thank you, Harry."

Draco gazed out the window. Only a few flashes of light could be seen now.

"What happens now?" Draco asked, not taking his eyes off the window.

"We wait until they're done," said Harry. "The Death Eaters are being arrested, and everyone who isn't a Death Eater is getting off with a strong warning and they'll be watched by the Ministry for a while for any suspicious activity."

"And Lucius?" Narcissa queried.

"He'll be at the Ministry until all the processing is complete," Harry replied. "I don't know how long that might take."

They heard footsteps approaching, and once again, Draco drew his wand. He didn't expect an attack but the move was almost automatic.

Two men and a woman soon entered the room, looking haggard and battle-worn. Draco knew from experience that it didn't take a long fight to tire you to your bones.

Harry stood and greeted the group. "Wallaby, and Stone are two of the Aurors assigned to tonight's mission. Bill Weasley is here with the is Narcissa and Draco Malfoy."

Everyone nodded and mumbled greetings, except for Narcissa, who was as polite as ever.

"Please, sit down." She gestured to the various seating available in the room.

The Aurors declined. Bill spoke for the group. "We've come to report on the outcome of the raid."

"Is everyone all right?" Narcissa asked.

Bill shook his head grimly. "We lost two Aurors, and another five have been taken to St. Mungo's."

Narcissa gasped.

"They fought to the death." He scowled. "We expected it, but I think they were beyond desperate."

"Did you get everyone you were after?" Draco asked, thinking of his uncles.

Bill nodded. "There were casualties on their side, as well. Spells were flying everywhere; the Death Eaters were bound to be hit by some of their own curses. Three of them were killed by friendly fire, another ten were severely injured, and at least five took their own lives to avoid capture."

"Rodolphus?" Draco pressed impatiently.

"Once Harry got your father out safely, Kingsley and I were tasked with collecting Rodolphus." Bill paused, glancing briefly at Harry. "I … hope this news isn't upsetting. Rodolphus rudely asked us what had taken us so long, and Rabastan overheard. Rabastan went berserk, interpreting correctly that Rodolphus had been in on the mission. He …."

Again Bill paused, this time looking at Narcissa with an apologetic expression. "He screamed and tried to get to his brother—I believe to harm him—but Kingsley and I held him back. Rabastan then pointed his wand in his brother's face and cast the killing curse. Kingsley and I immediately aimed at Rabastan, but he … he turned his wand on himself and …. I'm sorry, I know they were family."

Draco almost cheered. He was glad everyone was watching his mother for her reaction because he couldn't stop the smile.

Narcissa merely blinked. Even if she'd been heart-broken, she wouldn't have betrayed a shred of emotion in front of strangers. "I see. Thank you for your frankness, Mr. Weasley. What happens now? With my husband?"

The female Auror spoke up. "I believe he just has to wait until all the Death Eaters have been processed. Once that's finished, they'll pretend to take him to Azkaban but in reality, bring him here. It shouldn't be more than a couple of hours."

Narcissa smiled. "Thank you. Would any of you like something to drink?"

Bill shook his head and stood. "No, ma'am. We appreciate the offer, but we should return to the Ministry to help with the processing."

She stood as well, extending her hand to Bill as he passed. Bill hesitated only a fraction of a second before accepting it. Narcissa then turned to the remaining Aurors and inclined her head in thanks.

The three of them left the room. Draco looked at Harry, wondering why he remained.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he began, "I wanted to thank you."

Draco's gaze flitted to his mother. If she was surprised by Harry's statement, she didn't let it show.

"For what, if I may ask?" she replied.

"Well, for tonight, of course." Harry shifted in his seat. "For supporting your husband in this mission. But also, I never really properly thanked you for saving my life. There at the end."

Narcissa smiled slightly. "I have learned many lessons over the years and made many mistakes. When Draco was born, Lucius and I made the decision to put our family first. Though we have certainly struggled, family remains our first priority. You gave me hope that I would see my son again."

At this, she looked at Draco and smiled. He could feel the warmth, see the truth of her words in her eyes, and he struggled with remaining aloof. She was so certain of her words, and yet … Cassie remained in France. The two didn't match up; either she was lying now, or by leaving Cassie in France, Draco's parents really _had_ made family their first priority.

After all, Cassie hadn't been exposed to the hate, the prejudice, and the danger of the war. Draco was almost willing to admit—only to himself, of course—that his parents might have done right by Cassie. He was reserving final judgment, however.

"In that moment …." Narcissa trailed off.

Draco was surprised to see tears glistening in her eyes.

She began again. "In that moment, when I saw you lying there, I could only imagine it was Draco. We came so close to losing him."

Harry was paying rapt attention to Narcissa. Draco couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable at the personal level of his mother's story. She'd never shared this with him, yet here she was, speaking of it with Harry Potter, of all people, as though she discussed it every day.

"I wanted him—I wanted my _family_—reunited more than anything. Achieving that was worth any price," Narcissa concluded.

Draco knew she wasn't just speaking of him; she'd thought of Cassie that night too.

"So you're welcome." She laughed lightly. "I can't tell you how happy I am that you succeeded that night, Harry."

Potter was apparently as dumb-struck as Draco felt. Nobody spoke for several long moments. The silence became so unbearable that Draco spoke simply to end it.

"Mother, I think you should rest until Father returns."

"I couldn't possibly," she remarked.

Harry clapped the arms of his chair and pushed himself up. "I should head home. My wife is probably waiting for me, now that I think about it."

"Oh yes, you'd certainly better." Narcissa stood as well and held out her hand to Harry. "Thank you for protecting Lucius tonight."

Harry shook. "Sure thing. Anytime." He grinned, then nodded to Draco. "Later, Malfoy."

"I'll … walk you to the fireplace." Draco crossed the room in three long strides. "Mother, I may not return until Father is back."

She smiled, a little too knowingly. "All right."

Unnerved, Draco wondered if she could possibly know that he planned to return to his room where Hermione waited. He'd set up the wards of the house so that no one had access to his room unless he gave it.

"This way." Draco motioned for Harry to follow him. "It's easier to show you than have you get lost and wind up in the kitchen or something."

"Or the dungeon," Harry said cheerfully. "I've been there before; don't want to see it again."

Draco wasn't sure if he should be offended or not. "I got rid of the dungeons the first year after the war."

Harry laughed. "I'm joking. Though I'm glad to hear it. What have you got down there now?"

"Nothing, really." Draco frowned, trying to remember the last time he'd been to where the dungeons used to be. "Mother might have put something down there."

They walked on in silence for a few minutes. Then Harry said, "How you doing with all this?"

Draco wondered if this was an attempt at being 'friends.' He shrugged. "Oddly enough, things are becoming less confusing as time passes."

"Yeah? That's good. How long have you known about all this?" Harry asked.

"Not long, and I don't know everything that's going on. What I do know, I've discovered on my own. My parents have shared nothing of their own volition. Only after confronting my father did he tell me anything." Draco scowled at the thought of the long, illuminating, yet frustrating conversation with Lucius.

They reached the Traveling Room, and Draco indicated the bowl of Floo powder above the large fireplace.

"Thanks, mate." Harry grabbed a handful of the sparkly, green powder. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Draco mumbled something as Harry disappeared. He doubted he would ever feel comfortable enough with Harry to seek him out unless Harry was uniquely able to help. He wouldn't even go to Greg unless circumstances were dire. Hermione, however, was an entirely different matter.

And she was waiting in his room. Draco smiled as he quickened his pace.

**ooo**

Draco found Hermione in the closet room, sitting on the sofa with her legs curled under her and a book open on her lap. She looked up when he entered. He was still smiling.

"All right?" She hastily put the book away and stood, stretching a moment before crossing to him.

He let out a long breath. "It's all over."

She slipped her arms around his waist. "I guessed as much. I heard that loud explosion—what was it?"

Draco couldn't say exactly why he loved the feel of her arms around him; he just did. "No idea. I forgot to ask. I had more pressing concerns."

"Is your father all right?" she asked, looking him in the eye with a concerned expression.

"He is." Draco chuckled lightly. "Potter collected him."

"Harry?" Hermione stepped back. "Harry was here?"

Draco nodded. "With that cloak of his. Which, by the way, he said you have … permission … to tell me its story."

Her eyes widened. "Really? He said that?"

"He did. Is it that interesting a story?" Draco stepped past her to sit on the sofa, resting his head on the back and closing his eyes. He felt tired all of a sudden, despite the fact that his father would be returning in a few hours time.

"You might say that," she replied excitedly, sitting down beside him. "It's only the story of how Harry defeated Voldemort."

Draco opened his eyes and glanced at her sideways. "His invisibility cloak?"

She nodded rapidly. "Would you like to hear it now?"

"How long do you think it will take?" He yawned, not sure he would be able to stay awake for another five minutes, much less the entire story of the end of the war. Judging from Hermione's enthusiasm, the late hour notwithstanding, it promised to be an epic tale. He didn't see how it could be anything less.

Hermione considered the question for a moment. "I suppose it depends on which version you want. The succinct one, which focuses on the cloak, or the long one, that starts the summer before what should have been my seventh year."

Draco sighed. He had always wanted to hear this story, but the papers never printed any interesting details. He knew Hermione, Harry, and Ron had spent the year running around England, but what they were doing, no one knew. Like others, he knew generally what happened at the end, though _why_ it happened, he was as clueless as the rest. He definitely wanted the long version.

"I don't think I'm up for it right now." He yawned again. "How about tomorrow we have Chippy bring us lunch at your house and you tell me everything?"

"Lovely." Hermione beamed. "Do you want to come back to Hogwarts? Or would you prefer to stay here tonight?"

"Oh. Right." Draco sat up a little straighter; he'd slowly slid down the sofa until he was slouching badly. "My father is returning shortly. I'd like to see him when he gets back."

"What would you like me to do?" she asked.

Draco briefly examined the sofa, trying to judge if it would hold them both. It appeared to be too shallow for any comfort. He stood and held out his hand, pulling her up when she placed her hand in his.

With a flick of his was, Draco lengthened and widened the sofa. Then he lay down and Summoned a pillow and blanket and patted the spot next to him. "Fancy a little nap?"

Hermione eyed him distrustfully. "You just want to sleep?"

He smirked. "Actually, yes. But if you keep talking like that, you might give me ideas."

"I generally like your ideas." She joined him on the sofa, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Mmm, I know you do," he muttered into her hair. "I love that you like my ideas." Another yawn escaped his lips.

"How will you know when Lucius is here?" Hermione asked.

Draco sighed and turned his head so he wouldn't yell in Hermione's ear. "Good point. Chippy!"

The house-elf appeared almost instantly. "Yes, Master, sir?"

"Please wake me when my father arrives. It should be at least another hour."

Chippy bowed low. "Of course, master, sir." He disappeared with a pop.

Draco burrowed his face in Hermione's hair. "Goodnight."

She took one of his hands and kissed it gently. "Happy nap, Draco."

**ooo**

When Draco re-entered his mother's sitting room two hours later, he was still rubbing his tired eyes. The nap hadn't been long enough—or it had been too long and he should have continued sleeping. Either way, he didn't feel fully awake.

Lucius and Narcissa were on the sofa, talking quietly, but they stopped when he knocked lightly on the door.

"Draco," said his father. "Have a seat."

Draco took the chair Harry had occupied only a few hours before. As he did, he noticed that the box, the one that had haunted his thoughts, the one Harry had returned to Lucius upon his release from prison, sat on the coffee table just a few feet from where he sat. That instantly perked him up.

"Are you well?" Draco asked.

Lucius nodded. "You have lines on your face, son."

Draco yawned automatically. "I was sleeping."

Narcissa smiled. "Would you like to do this tonight? Or would you prefer to wait until tomorrow, when you're better rested?"

"No, tonight," he replied hastily. He'd waited months for this; he didn't want to wait a second longer.

Lucius extracted his wand from his robes and tapped the box. The lid sprung open smoothly, and then Lucius turned it around so that Draco could see inside.

This was the moment he'd been imagining for months. It was rather anti-climactic, however, when only twenty or so vials were revealed. One of them was purple and was set off on its own in a little group with two other vials, one green and one blue. Draco remembered Harry telling him that, had something happened to Lucius, he'd been instructed to tell Draco to drink the purple one.

Draco looked up at his parents expectantly. "I'm waiting."

"Please extract the blue and the green vials and hand them to us," Lucius instructed calmly.

Draco did as he was asked. Lucius and Narcissa uncapped the vials, raised them toward each other, and drank.

Then Lucius took them both and set them on the table, then smiled at his wife.

Narcissa spoke first. "Where to begin …? The beginning, I suppose." She repositioned herself so that she was fully facing Draco. "When you were born, the Dark Lord was rapidly growing in power. He—you were a beautiful baby, Draco. Perfect in every way. The Dark Lord grew rather fond of you; he wanted you for his own. I thought I was prepared to give anything for him, but …"

She trailed off, tears in her eyes.

Lucius continued. "We weren't prepared for you, for the way you would change us from the moment we set eyes on you. The day the Dark Lord told us of his intention to take you, to raise you, to mold you, we began to make plans. We were hopeless though; no one ever had escaped from him, and running with an infant would only make things harder."

"Then I had the idea to plead with him to let us keep you until you were weaned." Narcissa had regained her composure. "He saw the need for this and agreed. It gave us time to prepare for what we would do once that time came."

"But he was defeated mere months after you turned one," Lucius said.

Draco was frowning. "You … were preparing to leave the Dark Lord … because of me."

Narcissa shook her head. "We didn't want to leave him; we knew that was suicide. And we still believed in his cause. We just weren't willing to give you up."

"Your mother and I held onto the hope that another child would come along and draw his attention. Or that he would forget." Lucius propped one leg on his other knee.

"Or that you might not be such a beautiful toddler and so he wouldn't want you anymore." Narcissa smiled. "I'm glad that didn't happen though."

Draco wanted to roll his eyes but refrained.

"When he was defeated," Narcissa continued, "we were partly relieved. We wouldn't have to give you to him."

"What does this have to do with Cassie?" Draco asked.

"Patience, son." Lucius chuckled deeply. "We found out that your mother was pregnant soon after you left for your fourth year. We had every intention of telling you during Christmas holiday, but you and many of your fellow students remained at school for the Yule festivities. By then, however, the Mark on my arm was beginning to darken."

Narcissa started wringing her hands, which amused Draco, considering they were eleven years removed from the events being mentioned.

"As the Mark darkened, we suspected the Dark Lord was growing in strength, planning a return, though we didn't know how." Lucius reached over and took one of his wife's hands. "We also knew that this time, we were having a girl. The thought of him wanting to take her …."

Narcissa paled.

"We had to make sure he never saw her, never knew of her existence." Now Lucius put his arm around his wife.

"When the Mark started darkening again, we immediately took precautions." Narcissa's voice was strong despite her apparently weak state. "I didn't go out, didn't see anyone. No one could know I was pregnant."

"Not even me," Draco said heatedly.

"No! Especially you!" Narcissa exclaimed.

Draco stood up and started pacing behind the chair he'd just vacated. "Why? This is what I can't understand. Sure, I was only fourteen, but why couldn't I be told?"

"We feared the Dark Lord would, upon his return, want to take you under his wing," said Lucius. "Why do you think we protected you so after his return?"

Draco scowled. "I thought you believed me too young to participate in your activities. That you saw me as just a child. It only made me want to prove you wrong."

Tears filled Narcissa's eyes. "We weren't willing to sacrifice you to the cause. Never. The very thought was reprehensible."

"But he found a way to get to you in the end." Lucius frowned. "You must try to understand. Once you are branded, you are his. He never asked your mother or me for you, but we suspected he still wanted you. So he waited until I'd been disgraced to exact his revenge."

"I suspect Bellatrix helped him along." Narcissa's tone was bitter. "She was anxious to recruit you, Draco. She'd told me on more than one occasion that she would gladly give up her children to the Dark Lord. When I didn't happily rush you before him, I think she knew I never would. She knew how much he'd wanted you before and, always wanting to be seen with favor, she prompted the Dark Lord to use you."

"Which he did," said Lucius quietly.

"I'm still not entirely sure what this has to do with my sister." Draco stopped pacing and leaned on the back of the chair, trying not to be frustrated with his parents. It was nice to hear that they'd been so concerned about him, wanting to protect him, but he remembered how he'd felt during the time.

When Lucius had been imprisoned at the end of his fifth year, he'd been too young to officially assume control of the family, as he'd done when he was eighteen. Still, though, he'd felt responsible for the house, for his mother, for his family's standing in the eyes of the Dark Lord. He'd wanted nothing more than to redeem the Malfoy name, and he'd resented the way his mother had sheltered him, keeping him away from the Death Eaters and his aunt.

The night the Dark Lord had called for him, specifically, his mother couldn't refuse. He had gone proudly, his head held high, anxious for the chance to prove himself to his mother, his friends, to the whole wizarding world.

What a fool he'd been.

Lucius spoke clearly and calmly. "We couldn't tell you about Cassie because if he ever got his hooks into you, especially at such a young age, we didn't think you'd be able to keep him out of your mind. Only Severus was able to truly fool him—how he did, no one knows."

He shuddered slightly at the thought of the mental onslaughts he'd endured. No, at sixteen, he would not have been able to prevent the Dark Lord from entering his mind.

Draco eyed his parents warily. "Yet somehow, you were able to keep him from finding out about her."

Lucius nodded toward the box. "In the months we had to prepare, for lack of a better term, we searched all over the world for some kind of memory magic that would remove our memories completely, yet somehow we would still have the ghost of those memories. We found a piece of very dark magic that would achieve our end."

"In the box are all of our memories of Cassie—of finding out I was pregnant, worrying, plotting—everything. They were removed from us much like memories are removed to be used in a Pensieve, only instead of making a copy, the entire original was taken. It wasn't pleasant, but it was worth it."

"However, an imprint was left behind that we could access with a certain potion." Lucius indicated the empty vials on the table. "There's a time limit, depending on how much of the potion is consumed. If the Dark Lord ever probed our minds, the imprint memory would seem as merely a dream—complete with a twisted and altered version of reality."

Draco was impressed with the magic his parents had found. He wondered if Hermione would be too, despite the fact that it was considered Dark magic.

"All right. So you hid her from the Dark Lord." Draco resumed pacing. "And from me, because the Dark Lord would have found out through me. Not only would you have been in danger of him taking Cassie, but he would have discovered your treachery."

Narcissa nodded. "Do you understand, at least, why we didn't tell you?"

He did. The thought of the Dark Lord taking his sister was unbearable. He would have done anything to prevent it, had he known. Not even he, in all his misguided intentions, would have willingly allowed Cassie to be handed over to the Dark Lord. However, understanding it didn't mean he was ready to forgive and forget.

Even knowing his parents' reason, their efforts to preserve their family, he still had trouble accepting their decision not to tell him. It would have been foolish to confide in him, he could see that easily, yet he still hated being deceived.

"I … understand, yes," he said slowly.

"It's normal for you to be angry," Narcissa said sympathetically. "That's all right."

Draco didn't comment about that. "That's all well and good for when he was alive. But he was defeated by Potter over seven years ago."

Lucius nodded. "We had every intention of bringing her home. Those plans were in the works. However, not long after my prison term began, I was approached by the Minister with his proposition for capturing the remaining Death Eaters."

"We were somewhat frightened about their reactions when we retrieved Cassie," added Narcissa. "The fact that we'd hidden her would show the whole world that we'd defied the Dark Lord. We were worried what the reaction would be, and we certainly didn't discount the fact that his more loyal followers who'd escaped might retaliate. Without Lucius here, I was terrified that someone would hurt you or Cassie because of what we'd done."

Lucius squeezed Narcissa's hand, then stood and walked to the window through which Draco had watched the final showdown. "The Minister's proposal was a solution, though it would mean that Cassie stayed in France for much longer than we would have liked. The violence immediately following the war convinced us this was the best course we could take."

"And you left her in Paris to be raised away from her family for another seven years," Draco concluded bitterly.

"I saw her as often as possible," Narcissa asserted. "You knew about my shopping trips, but I visited her almost on a daily basis. I told her all about you, your father, our home, our world—everything I could think of to ease her transition when she finally comes home. When she was a little older, she started asking questions about you and Lucius—where were you, why did she never see you—I told her the truth. It was important for her to understand that she was loved but that we had made some big mistakes and were paying for them."

Draco scoffed.

"Don't be rude to your mother," Lucius scolded.

"It's all right." Narcissa smiled at her husband. "He has every right to be angry. To question us."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't have the right to be rude. You are still his mother."

Narcissa said nothing more on that particular matter. "Cassie appreciated her situation, though she longed to meet you and Lucius. She enjoyed having an important secret; it helped her feel as though she was doing her part for the family. Oh, I can't wait to bring her home!"

Lucius smiled at his wife. "Soon, Cissa. Very soon. We'll send the letters tomorrow, first thing."

For the first time since the conversation began, Draco smiled too. He wanted Cassie home very much, and hopefully before Christmas.

"There's so much to be done!" Narcissa pulled out a piece of parchment upon which Draco could see her elegant handwriting. "We have to prepare her room, decorate the house for the holiday, write to Beauxbatons and Hogwarts—though Madame Maxime was informed of this eventuality. I'm sure there's more. Draco, darling, would you be interested in helping me prepare the house for your sister's arrival?"

"Yes, Mother."

She beamed. "Lovely! I've already got her room selected, and I'm torn between decorating it for her and letting her do it once she's here."

Draco frowned. There was much to be discussed before they started debating on wall colors. "Aren't you getting ahead of things?"

"What do you mean?" Narcissa asked, truly puzzled.

"Rodolphus!" he exclaimed. "He knew about Cassie; she told me she saw him on a regular basis. He blackmailed me for seven years, and both of you knew about it!"

Narcissa's eyes went wide and she gasped.

Lucius was peering at him intently, his eyes narrowed slightly. "What makes you think we knew?"

Draco did roll his eyes this time. "I'm not an idiot, Father. When I told you about Rodolphus, you weren't the least bit surprised or concerned—not until I revealed for just how much I'd been blackmailed. And you too, Mother! I couldn't believe it when I realized you'd known too. How could you?" He was shouting by the end of his tirade.

"You're overreacting—"

Draco cut his father off. "Not to mention that I overheard your conversation with Rodolphus that night in the drawing room, Father. Ten thousand Galleons was the agreed upon price—you were only angry that he'd taken so much! You mentioned a plan that Rodolphus was supposed to adhere to!"

Narcissa had once again gone pale and her eyes were full of tears. "Draco—"

"No, Mother. I'd like to hear what Father has to say." He crossed his arms and waited, all the while glaring angrily.

Lucius sighed wearily. "We needed to continue providing for Cassie. It seemed the most expedient way."

Draco could feel his face turning red he was so angry. "More expedient to tell Rodolphus—one of those 'most loyal' Death Eaters you mentioned earlier, Mother—than to tell your son?"

"We didn't want you to have any knowledge of what was going on," Narcissa stated. "We wanted you to be completely ignorant of your sister in case your father's mission went badly."

"How are the two connected?" he asked, exasperated.

Lucius spoke. "In order to ensure your sister's safety—and yours, once we brought her home—we needed to be rid of the Death Eaters. Those who might take action against our family for betraying the Dark Lord. They were already quite unhappy with us because of your mother's actions on behalf of Potter. I agreed to the Minister's proposal because it would pave the way for your sister's safe return. And the shortened prison sentence was desirable, since I could return to your mother and get to know my daughter."

Draco shook his head, amazed at the complexity of this whole thing. "I'm still having trouble with the fact that you trusted Rodolphus Lestrange with this secret."

"We didn't so much trust him as force him," said Narcissa. "I went to him after finalizing all the details with your father and Arthur Weasley. He agreed that he would do anything to help Lucius, and so I brought him to the Minister and bound him with the Unbreakable Vow. Arthur was our witness and binder. Rodolphus had to help us. We told him to blackmail you in order to get the money necessary to care for Cassie. He was also charged with delivering the money to her bank account in Paris."

"The fact that he took so much …." Lucius trailed off, his jaw hardening. "Was unacceptable. I do apologize, Draco, for the hardships this caused you. The money Rodolphus stashed away will be returned to me now that he is dead. You deserve it; I will have it put in your vault."

Draco stared, surprised more at the apology than his father's generous gift. He'd expected his father to defend his actions, despite Rodolphus taking more than he was supposed to. Draco felt somewhat better.

And one and a half million Galleons! Merlin, he was so used to saving every spare Knut he didn't know what he would do with such a sum.

"Thank you," he said weakly.

"Ten thousand Galleons a month wouldn't have been missed," Lucius continued. "I explicitly told Rodolphus this when we were talking. I don't know where the idea for a hundred thousand Galleons entered his mind."

"Didn't Rabastan know about the blackmail?" Narcissa asked. "Perhaps he encouraged Rodolphus to ask for more."

Lucius nodded. "Indeed. Perhaps. We'll never know."

"I'm not sorry they're dead," Draco blurted out.

"Neither am I," said Lucius. "Makes for a much cleaner resolution. Though Rodolphus would have been dead in a few months' time anyway because of his condition. Rabastan wouldn't have gone so quietly to Azkaban, wouldn't have let anyone forget what I had done."

Draco turned to look at the box and his eyes fell upon the purple vial. "Potter told me that if something had happened, I was to drink the purple one. Did he know about Cassie as well?"

"No." Lucius clasped his hands behind his back and walked back to the sofa, taking his seat once more beside Narcissa. "Harry Potter knew only of the mission to capture the Death Eaters. We entrusted him with the box because he owed your mother for her actions at the end of the war. We also knew you weren't friends with him and would likely never come in contact with him such that you would discover the box. He seemed the most likely candidate to watch over it. I'm sure he believed it had to do with the mission, and we didn't dissuade him of the notion."

Draco let out a long breath, still staring at the purple vial. "What would have happened if I'd drunk it?"

"You would have had our ghost memories imprinted on your own memories," Narcissa replied. "Instructions would then have appeared on the inside of the lid of the box, telling you to watch all of the Pensieve memories. From there, you would have hopefully continued caring for Cassie."

"Of course." His response was automatic, and it still surprised him how quickly and irrevocably attached he'd become to a girl he'd only known about a month.

"Well. Have we satisfied all of your questions?" she asked primly.

"I have no idea," he said honestly. "I'm sure I'll think of others to ask once I've had time to let all of this sink in."

"Undoubtedly." Lucius picked up the empty vials and replaced them in the box. "We would like for you to view these memories. When you have finished, please return them to us so that we can proceed with the reversal spell and have them returned to our memory stores."

"The top set are mine, the bottom your father's." Narcissa pointed to each set in turn. "Though many of them are quite similar, there is some variation between the sets."

Draco nodded mutely. "I take it you have a Pensieve somewhere?"

"Yes," she said. "I'll have Chippy bring it to you in the morning."

"All right." He yawned, feeling suddenly tired again. "Is that all?"

His parents looked at each other, then Lucius spoke. "Yes. Until you have more questions. We will … both … be willing to answer anything you might ask."

Draco stood and closed the box, then picked it up. For months he'd wondered about it, and it felt strange to be holding it, to be allowed—encouraged, asked, even—to examine its contents. "Good night, Mother. Father."

He turned to leave but Narcissa called him back. "Draco, wait." She stood and walked to him, hesitating only a moment before throwing her arms around him. She held him for a few moments, but he was unable to return the hug, as he was holding the box.

When she let him go, she brought her hands up to his shoulders. "We are so very proud of you. I couldn't believe the incredible job you'd done with the company when I realized how much money had been taken from you. Not only did you keep it afloat, but not once did you raise my suspicions that there was anything even slightly wrong."

"That bloody curse," he mumbled. "I couldn't, or else."

She nodded. "I know. The curse was our idea. So that you wouldn't be tempted to tell me about the blackmailing, and in turn so I wouldn't be tempted to reveal Cassie." She smiled sadly. "I'm so sorry about the way we had to do things. We truly did what we thought was best for all members of this family."

Draco sighed. "I do believe you. I won't presume to tell you what you should have done in circumstances I can't understand."

Narcissa hugged him again, tears once again filling her beautiful eyes. "I love you, Draco," she whispered.

His heart swelled, finally giving over to the want, the need to think well of his parents, to forgive them. It would still take time, but he wanted to put everything behind him. "I love you too, Mother."

She squeezed him tighter, then released him, wiping her eyes but smiling.

Lucius appeared behind Narcissa and held out his hand. Draco tucked the box precariously under one arm and shook his father's hand.

"I, too, cannot thank you enough for your work with the business. Your efforts truly saved it, and now it runs far more efficiently than I ever imagined possible." He smirked. "I even plan to begin meeting with the Muggles myself."

Draco's eyes widened. "Oh?"

"The reason I couldn't before, why I asked you to stay on, was out of necessity," Lucius explained. "I had to keep up the image of being anti-Muggle in order for recruitment purposes. Don't misunderstand; I am certainly not pro-Muggle, and I doubt I ever will be, but I'm content to let them continue in their world so long as they don't interfere with mine."

"That's big of you, Father," Draco remarked sarcastically.

"I wish you all the best in whatever you do next." Lucius paused, shifting uncomfortably. "And … I, too, love you and am proud of you."

Draco knew how hard those words were. Before, Lucius had only ever had to say that they both loved him. Now, he was speaking for only himself. The worst part was that it would be equally hard for Draco to return the sentiment, despite wanting to.

Best to do it quickly. "I love you too, Father. Though I'm still angry with you. Both of you."

Narcissa was positively beaming. "We understand. It will take time. And sleep, which we all need desperately right now. Good night, son."

"Good night." Draco shut the door to his mother's sitting room and leaned against it, taking the first deep breaths he'd taken since entering the room. Why was it that after long conversations with his parents he was left fuzzy-headed and scattered? Perhaps because they often contained so much new and sometimes unpleasant information. His mind simply couldn't process fast enough. Not to mention the fact that most of these revelatory meetings took place late at night, another hindrance to full comprehension.

He pushed away from the door and returned to his room. All the lights were off save a single candle placed on a table near the door, which Hermione must have left lit so that he could find his way.

Draco saw that she was in his bed, fast asleep. The clock on the wall read almost six in the morning; he wouldn't wake her. He yawned and set the box on the table, picking up the candle as he did so.

As he neared the bed, he began undoing the buttons and fastens of his clothes. He set the candle on the nightstand and pulled off his robes, shirt, trousers, socks and shoes, uncharacteristically letting them fall in a pile on the floor.

When he crawled under the covers, Hermione moved slightly, but didn't wake. He smiled at the back of her head and closed his eyes, falling asleep before he could count to three.

**ooo**

**End Notes:** Thanks for reading! I've got to get busy on the next chapter. Thank you for your patience between chapters! It looks like it will probably be 3 weeks between updates for the last 2 chapters. I cannot believe it's almost over! WOW. This story WILL be finished before the end of the year, I can promise you that.

Beta thanks, as usual, to pokeystar and drcjsnider.


	35. Solutions and Stones

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. Just writing for fun.

**Author's Note: **I apologize profusely for how long it has taken me to get this written and posted. I tried really hard to finish the story before Christmas, but that just couldn't happen. I had 2 other writing obligations to complete by December 1, then holiday things to do, plus getting ready for baby and visits from family. It's been a whirlwind month—I can't believe tomorrow is the END of 2009! I was so sure I'd get this story finished this year. Wow. Well, again, I'm sorry, and I'll have the next chapter up as soon as possible! Also, this chapter is completely unbeta'd—that's how much I wanted to get it to you!—so any and all mistakes are mine.

**Heavy Lies the Crown**

**Chapter 35 - - Solutions and Stones**

When Hermione woke the next morning, she knew it was late. The sun was already nearing its zenith in the sky, sending sharp, angled rays of light through the tall windows. Draco was still fast asleep, and considering the long, probably exhausting night he'd been through, he probably needed as much rest as possible.

Hermione slowly crawled out of bed and reached for her wand on the bedside table. It was then she noticed a crisp white card that hadn't been there the night before. Quickly glancing around the room, as though the creature responsible for the card might still be lurking, she felt her cheeks redden. Someone had surely seen her in Draco's bed, and the thought that it might have been his mother or, worse yet, his father, was horrifying.

Common sense won out, however, and she admitted that it had probably been Chippy who'd delivered the note.

The stiff card read:

_Draco,_

_Since we all had a late night, we'll be eating brunch at eleven instead of breakfast at the usual time. You are, of course, welcome as always._

_Love,_

_Narcissa_

Hermione checked the time; it was ten past ten. She decided to return to her suite and get ready for the day. If Draco was still asleep when she got back, she'd wake him and show him the card.

It took her only fifteen minutes to shower and get ready, and she was back in Draco's room by ten-thirty. As far as she could tell, he hadn't moved a muscle.

Hermione sat gently on the side of the bed she'd slept on and leaned over, gently brushing his hair off his face.

"Draco," she called softly.

He made no reaction, so she raised her voice a bit and gently shook his arm as she repeated his name.

Draco made a grunting sound and opened his eyes, though she could tell it was with some effort. He blinked a few times, then focused on her. The barest hint of a smile edged the corner of his lips.

"Mmm. Hey."

Hermione smiled. "Good morning. How are you?"

"No idea." Draco rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. When he looked at her for a few moments, he frowned. "You've been to Hogwarts and changed."

She nodded. "I wanted to let you sleep as long as possible. It's ten-thirty-five. I also found this." She handed him the card she'd found.

He read over it and let himself fall back onto the bed. "Bollocks."

"Did things go well with your parents?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

Draco considered the question, then sighed. "They went … as well as can be expected, I suppose. They told me everything."

"That's wonderful!" she exclaimed.

He looked at her. "Come to brunch with me." It wasn't quite a question, but it wasn't a command, either.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Brunch? Today? But I wasn't invited."

Draco now threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, putting his house shoes on. Then he stood and faced her. "I'm inviting you. They won't mind; they'll just be surprised."

"I don't know," she said, reluctant and uneasy at the idea of showing up for a meal with the Malfoys without Draco's parents knowing she was coming.

"Don't make me beg," he scolded, belying his words with a soft kiss.

Hermione refused to let the gesture soften her, and she started to tell Draco this but he'd already left her side.

"I don't have much time to get ready." He was hurrying around the room, collecting clothes to wear for the day. Within a minute, she heard the shower water running. "I'd like to tell you everything that happened last night," he said, emerging from the bathroom to grab something he'd forgotten. Just before re-entering the bathroom, he stopped to look at her. "Come on, I haven't got much time! You can make your decision about brunch once you've heard my story." Draco motioned for her to follow him and disappeared.

Hermione sighed and followed.

Draco spent the next twelve minutes telling her everything of importance he could remember from the night before. He barely paused to breathe as he completed his morning ablutions, speaking from the moment she entered the bathroom until he had his hand on the door, ready to walk out for brunch.

"Are you coming?" he asked without breaking his flow of speech.

Hermione could only blink. He'd talked non-stop for so long that she hadn't been able to process what he was saying, much less give another thought to his brunch invitation. Now she had only seconds to decide. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Did what?" He opened the door.

"Never mind." She sighed and followed him.

Draco gave her a curious look but said nothing as he led the way through the house. "Do not worry about my parents," he insisted. "They're … Well, I don't really know. But don't worry."

She rolled her eyes where he couldn't see, her stomach twisting in nervous knots. "Easy for you to say," she muttered.

When they reached the dining room, Draco took her hand and walked into the room. Lucius and Narcissa were already seated, and they both looked up.

Hermione's heart was pounding, but she was relieved somewhat at Narcissa's immediate smile. Lucius merely watched Hermione for a moment and then returned to his paper.

"Hermione," Narcissa called, "what a pleasant surprise! Welcome. Please, join us."

Draco gave her hand a squeeze and started toward the table. Hermione followed hesitantly, her gaze flitting to Lucius every other second. He hadn't made any overt signs of displeasure at her presence, but neither had he said anything that might put her at ease. She tried to tell herself to be happy he hadn't outright banned her from the meal.

Draco sat in the chair beside his father, and Hermione sat next to him. At least this time she had a buffer from Lucius.

"Sleep well, son?" The corner of Lucius' mouth quirked up, hinting as some unspoken amusement.

"Like the dead," Draco replied, helping himself to the various offerings presented platters. "I don't even remember my head hitting the pillow."

Hermione felt uncomfortable at the look Draco's parents exchanged, which happened to go completely unnoticed by him. Suddenly she froze, her fork stabbing a piece of sausage, when she realized what it meant. They knew—knew she'd stayed the night. They had to! What else could account for Lucius' odd question and that look?

Granted, they weren't stupid. She and Draco had been together for months, so it was a pretty safe assumption to think they were sleeping together. But to know that his parents—that Lucius Malfoy!—knew for absolute fact, made her extremely uncomfortable.

Then, to make her awkwardness complete, she glanced at Lucius out of the corner of her eye, only to find him smirking at her.

Hermione quickly averted her gaze but felt her cheeks burn. Now he knew that she knew he knew! It was even more humiliating! And all she and Draco had done was sleep the night before. They hadn't even done what Lucius was thinking they'd done. Oh, Merlin, she wanted to crawl under the table and disappear.

Narcissa broke the painful silence. "Your father and I sent a letter to the boarding house in Paris this morning."

Draco's eyes shone as he looked at his mother. "Yeah? To bring Cassie home?"

Narcissa nodded, her smile beautiful. "Unfortunately, we had to send it by Muggle post. With only four days until Christmas, I'm worried they won't get it in time to respond. We may have to simply delay our celebration until she arrives."

"We assumed that Draco filled you in on everything." Lucius addressed Hermione with a brief, indifferent glance, as though the previous, unspoken conversation hadn't happened. His manner was easy, slightly bored.

"He did, for the most part, I think," she responded.

Lucius turned back to his wife.

"It's such a shame that we couldn't have her here in time for Christmas. The nearby village is simply beautiful the night before." Tears welled in Narcissa's pale blue eyes. "I was so hoping …."

Lucius put a hand stop his wife's, rubbing it soothingly. "Now, Cissa. This isn't the time for tears and sadness. We'll have Cassie home soon enough, and I'm sure you'll expend every effort to spoil her as you've longed to do these many years."

Narcissa smiled at first, then let out a tiny laugh, but didn't say anything.

Then Lucius asked Draco something business related, and Hermione's thoughts wandered to Cassie. Muggle post wasn't _that_ slow, but she still didn't think they'd be able to get all the details worked out in time to get Cassie home for the holiday. Then Hermione realized something and rolled her eyes because it had taken her so long to see it.

"Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa looked at her. "Yes, Hermione?"

Lucius stopped talking, and Hermione sensed him and Draco turn all their attention on her. So be it, she thought, sitting up a little straighter.

"Perhaps you could call the school and arrange Cassie's return that way." Hermione refused to look at anyone except Narcissa, despite the burning sensation of Lucius' eyes. "It wouldn't take nearly as long as communicating through letter, and she could be packed by this afternoon."

Narcissa's eyes fluttered for a moment. "Call the school?" she repeated. "I'm almost certain they aren't connected to the Floo network."

Hermione had wondered, based on what the Malfoy business was, if Narcissa would be familiar with the Muggle devices that Malfoy, Inc. invested in. Apparently not. "A telephone. It's a way Muggles talk to each other. I'm sure the school would have one."

The woman didn't speak right away. As she stared at Hermione, hope slowly crept into her eyes and was then quashed, leaving behind only sadness. "Oh my. We don't have a … a telephone. But that would have worked, you're right."

Hermione resolutely kept her eyes on Narcissa. She wanted to look at Draco, who had admitted to once owning a cell phone and who might still have access to one. Then there was Lucius, who had been the one to lead Malfoy, Inc. into the world of Muggle technology. When neither Malfoy man volunteered anything, Hermione sighed in annoyance.

"My parents have a phone. It's portable. I'm sure they'd let me borrow it for a few hours. Then you can call Cassie's school and hopefully get things arranged for her homecoming."

"Are you certain it wouldn't be an inconvenience?" Narcissa seemed barely able to breathe she was so close to letting herself be excited. "I'm sure it's difficult to be without one's … telephone."

Hermione smiled. "I'm positive. They have a phone at their house too."

Narcissa turned to her husband, and Hermione's gaze followed the other witch's. Lucius' expression was unreadable. After a moment of silent communication, Lucius nodded to Narcissa, who then gave a soft squeal of delight.

She turned back to Hermione, smiling widely, eyes shining. "Oh, Hermione! That would be … incredible. Thank you for the kind offer!" Narcissa again reached for her husband's hand. "Just think, Lucius! Cassie could be home … tonight!" Then her eyes widened. "The house! We don't have a single decoration up, and her rooms aren't ready—they haven't even been started! And then there's the—"

"Cissa," said Lucius calmly, amusedly. "Do relax. There's no need to get so worked up right now. Let's speak with the school first. Then you may fret over bed linens and silver baubles. She might not even be able to come home today."

Narcissa relaxed. "You're right. Let's wait to see what happens."

Neither Lucius nor Narcissa spoke immediately, so Hermione took the opportunity. "I'll go directly after we're finished eating. I shouldn't be more than an hour."

"Wonderful!" Narcissa exclaimed. Then, turning to her son, she said, "Draco, are you free this afternoon to help me with the house preparations?"

Hermione glanced at Draco, curious about his response.

"Sure," he replied with a shrug. He met Hermione's gaze and his eyes clearly expressed hope that she wouldn't be upset with him.

She smiled.

"Hermione, you're welcome to join us." Narcissa's expression now was all business. "Though I'm afraid it will be rather dull. There is much work to be done."

Hermione was torn. She wanted to spend time with Draco, and it couldn't hurt to be around his mother more. After all, hadn't she just recently been prepared to accept a marriage proposal? She'd have to get used to his family at some point. But decorating for the holidays and preparing the house for Cassie's arrival should probably remain a family affair. Though she felt close enough to Draco, she wasn't nearly that comfortable with Narcissa, to say nothing of Lucius. Hopefully, something approaching that kind of familiarity would happen eventually.

"I understand, and thank you for the invitation. I've got a few last-minute things to take care of, and my mother asked for my help baking cookies."

Narcissa nodded graciously. "You must join us for Christmas Even dinner at the very least."

Hermione tried not to let her astonishment show. Surely Narcissa was only being courteous and didn't truly expect or want Hermione there.

Then Lucius spoke. "You would be quite welcome, Miss Granger." His tone was stiff, as though he'd been out of the practice of speaking for a long time, but he steadily met her apprehensive and stunned gaze.

Now she was at a complete loss. She usually spent Christmas Eve with her parents and they were expecting her again this year. Perhaps she could have dinner with Draco's family and then go home. Still, she wasn't sure what to say, and everyone at the table was watching her.

"You can let us know your answer as soon as you have one," Narcissa said after a few seconds.

Hermione sent her a grateful look. "Thank you. I will."

Then the other witch resumed her meal. "Draco. I had planned to give Cassie the suite at the opposite end of your hallway. What do you think?"

"I think she'll like that." He smiled warmly.

Hermione sat mostly silent through the rest of the meal as Narcissa and Draco, with occasional comment from Lucius, discussed their plans for the remainder of the day. It was endlessly entertaining to watch the Malfoys when they all but ignored her presence. They were almost like any other family, and if she closed her eyes, could almost pretend they really were.

**ooo**

Once the meal was over, Draco walked Hermione to the Traveling Room. After all, she couldn't very leave from his room, as that would put an end to any potential speculation on his parents' part as to their … situation. Granted, they didn't know about the changes Draco had made to his room, at least she didn't think he'd told them.

When they'd walked far enough from the dining room that they could be reasonably sure Lucius and Narcissa wouldn't hear, Draco spoke.

"Thank you for what you're doing. It means more to them than they let on."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not doing it for them. And they've let on an awful lot! I can't believe your mother invited me to Christmas Eve dinner—and that Lucius essentially seconded her!"

Draco grinned, one of the few times she'd seen him so expressive. "Like I said, they really appreciate what you're doing in letting them use your parents' phone. It's almost a guarantee now that Cassie will be home for Christmas. That means … Well, I know how much it means to me." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Hermione gave him a sideways look. "It sounds as though you've completely forgiven them."

Draco frowned and shook his head. "Not entirely. No, it's too soon for that. But their motives and actions … Even if I don't necessarily agree with their decisions, I do believe they were convinced at the time—and still are—that they had no other options. And without being there, in their place, who am I to say otherwise?"

She smiled to herself at his wise words.

"Do I wish they'd brought me in years ago? Of course. I could have been very useful in their schemes and avoided a lot of headaches. But I can't blame them for wanting to protect me." He gave her a smoldering look as they reached their destination. "I understand much better now about wanting to keep someone from all possible harm."

Hermione's heart melted at his words, and she leaned up to kiss him. It was short and sweet, but Draco hummed pleasantly.

"I'm glad to hear that your relationship with your parents is salvageable. For a while there, I thought the opposite was absolutely certain."

He sighed and kissed her again, gently pushing her against the wall. He wasn't demanding or frantic, content to kiss her slowly and passionately but not further the kiss.

Hermione was disappointed but at the same time grateful for his thoughtfulness. She _did_ have an errand to run, and the sooner she left, the sooner she could return.

Draco seemed to remember this at the same time and ended the kiss, smiling heatedly as he released her. "I'd like to continue this later."

"Me too," she replied breathlessly.

"Tonight?"

The hopeful tone lacing his words made her smile. "What if Cassie's here?"

Draco chuckled. "She has to sleep sometime. Besides, I always end up at your place anyway."

"Then count on it." Hermione wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and kissed him swiftly on the cheek. "I'll be back soon."

**ooo**

Hermione secured the cell phone and returned to the Manor as promised. Draco met her at the fireplace and walked her to the parlor, where his parents were waiting. He watched with amusement as Hermione instructed Narcissa in the proper way to use a phone. Then Hermione made the phone call, got the necessary person at the school on the line, and handed the device to the other woman.

Narcissa's face beamed as she held the device in her hand. Within moments, she'd adapted and was working out the details of her daughter's permanent removal from Paris.

After saying goodbye, Narcissa handed the phone back to Hermione. "I can't thank you enough," she said enthusiastically. "Lucius will go to Paris first thing in the morning to get Cassie and bring her home."

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad. Happy I could help."

Draco watched the entire exchange with mixed feelings. Hermione's words from earlier in the day had stuck with him. _It sounds as though you've completely forgive them._ It was almost frightening how easily he'd let go of much of his resentment and anger. His parents had betrayed him in the most basic ways, but as he'd told Hermione, he truly believed they had acted with his best interests in mind to the best of their abilities.

He'd come in on the scheme at the very end, just in time to learn about the details and be there for his mother during the final event. If he hadn't learned anything until it was all over, he suspected he would have had a more difficult time dealing with everything. As things happened, he'd been given the chance to play a role, however small, in getting his sister home.

In a way—a very odd, unexpected way—Draco was somewhat thankful that Rodolphus had continued to blackmail him beyond when he was supposed to have stopped. If he hadn't, Draco would have learned about his sister and his parents' deception after the fact. There was so much information, he wasn't sure he'd have been able to handle it all at once. Having a few months in which to absorb pieces of the truth would probably help him reconcile everything in the end.

Not to mention that he would have had no reason to seek out Hermione's help, and he didn't like thinking about what that meant.

**ooo**

"Have you purchased a stone?"

Draco paused in the middle of putting lights on the tree, his wand suspended mid-movement. He frowned as the light strand swayed gently in the air. "A stone?"

"For the setting." Narcissa continued her work with the ornaments as though nothing could be more obvious or appropriate for conversation.

"Yes, Mother, I know that you meant a stone for the setting," Draco said, slightly annoyed. "I'm curious why you think I've been considering a stone, much less looking for one."

"Now, Draco, don't insult me." A dozen silver baubles flew expertly into a perfectly spaced pattern on the fifteen-foot tree. "I know how you feel about Hermione, and I'm sure she feels the same way. It's only natural to think about these things."

Draco scowled and released the lights from their holding pattern. "Mother, how I feel about Hermione … really doesn't have anything to do with a stone. Right now, at least. Some day, perhaps, but I'm not ready to think about that right now."

Narcissa sent another batch of baubles onto the tree, then tucked her wand behind her ear and turned to face her son. "Is that so?"

He waited until the strand he was working on was in place, then looked at his mother. "Yes, that's so."

"You don't want to marry her?" Narcissa sounded genuinely confused.

Draco sighed. "Yes, I do. But … we've only been together for four months or so. It's too soon to be thinking about that. And besides, I haven't had enough time to get used to the idea of having a sister, having a life of my own. I'm not ready to start a life with someone else."

Narcissa looked at him pensively. "When will you be?"

"I don't know," he replied, frustrated. He thought about Hermione's insistence that he travel the world, experience everything he'd missed. Part of him still wanted that, very much. But he didn't want to leave Hermione in England. Yes, she said she loved him, but fear was a constant tension in his mind—fear that if he left, she'd realize she could do better.

He'd never voiced this fear; his only confidante over the last few months had been Hermione, and he certainly wasn't ready to tell her just how much he thought of her, of their future. Narcissa was still watching him expectantly.

"Mum … the truth is …." Draco trailed off, one last moment of hesitation kicking in. Then he told her everything about his relationship with Hermione. He confessed that their relationship had been fake at the beginning but that it hadn't taken long for him to develop feelings for her. He told his mother about Charlie Weasley and all of his insecurities about Hermione's feelings.

Narcissa listened patiently, the Christmas tree in the front hall forgotten. When Draco was finished with his story, he was surprised to find that they were sitting in the room nearest the tree, a service of tea and biscuits on the table between them, and a teacup in his hand, half-empty. He'd been so caught up in his story that he hadn't really noticed.

Comfortable silence surrounded them for a few moments before Narcissa spoke.

"You do love her, that much is clear," she began gently. "You're also afraid that if you leave, she'll go back to her former love."

Draco nodded miserably, downing the last of his tea.

Narcissa folded her hands in her lap. "I'm sure you've thought of this, but it may help to hear it out loud, from someone else." She paused. "If you and Hermione are going to last, then it won't matter if you leave. If you do go, and she ends things with you, then better to know sooner than later. Because if your relationship with her, which seems so strong now, can't stand a little trial, then it wouldn't make it through the demands of marriage."

He groaned and let his shoulders sag. "I know all of that."

"Then why don't you trust yourself, trust her?"

"I'm scared to lose her," he admitted with a whisper.

Narcissa's expression softened into one of pained sympathy. "I know that too. But fear shouldn't keep you from living your life to the fullest."

Again, Hermione's words came to his mind. She didn't want him to wake up one day in the future and regret not seeing what was out there. How could he possibly ensure that he got both? He wanted Hermione, and he probably needed to get away from everything for a while.

Then he looked at his mother. She was watching him as though waiting for him to put something together. He thought of her question about the stone and frowned.

"You think … I should ask her to marry me, then leave her here while I travel the world?"

Narcissa neither confirmed nor denounced his theory. "You once talked about your desire to see new things. It was all that got you through these past seven years."

He huffed in frustration. "Yes, that's true. But things are different now. I don't feel that need the same way I once did."

"Because you've got something else to take your mind off it. But Draco, listen to me." Her expression was serious. "I do not say this lightly. What you have with Hermione is wonderful, but you must do what is best for _you_. If that involves getting away from England for awhile, then you must be open to that option."

Draco sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "And if Hermione and I are … going to work, then our relationship would survive the separation."

"Naturally." Narcissa smiled serenely.

He scowled; he hated admitting when other people were right. "You would have to swear to me that you wouldn't let Father send witches after me."

She laughed at that. "I'm pretty sure that he's come to terms with your choice in Hermione. I don't know if he will ever really warm to her, all things considered, but he has no intention of interfering anymore."

"That's good to know," Draco muttered. "I hate the thought of bringing her here too much. Holidays, family dinners … I don't think it will ever be pleasant."

Narcissa sighed. "We'll just have to hope for the best. I truly don't believe gatherings would be any different, Hermione or anyone; your father would likely never be overly warm with any woman you brought home."

Draco chuckled. "Good point."

**ooo**

As soon as Draco and his mother finished with the Christmas tree, leaving the remainder of the decorations in the capable hands of the house-elves, Draco went to Diagon Alley. In the pocket of his robes, he carried the setting his mother had given him. There was no time like the present, he reasoned.

With Christmas the next day, it felt absolutely right for him to be thinking of marriage. He'd already realized that his main aversion to marrying Hermione had nothing whatsoever to do with her, or him. It was the thought of bringing Hermione into his world, of subjecting her to the strains and protocol of pureblood society that made him balk. She was too good for it all, above such pettiness and ridiculousness.

He had almost reached the jewelry shop when someone called his name. Draco recognized the voice and was momentarily terror-struck, thinking his friend would deduce the nature of his errand and … what?

Shaking his head at himself, Draco turned around to meet his friend. He was momentarily shocked to see Pansy's arm draped through Greg's, but the surprise quickly gave way to a huge grin.

"Greg!" he called cheerfully. "Pansy. It's nice to see you both."

Pansy smiled shyly, then disentangled herself from Greg to give Draco a hug. Draco could practically feel her relief, her happiness, through that hug, and it warmed his heart.

When she pulled back, she was smiling bigger than he'd ever seen. "I've been meaning to stop by," she said, returning her hand to the crook of Greg's arm. "We've been … busy."

"We're just headed into Masterson's."

Greg didn't have to say more for Draco to understand. Pansy hopped a little on the balls of her feet, her grin widening.

Draco's eyes widened. Masterson's was Draco's destination too—the finest magical jewelry shop in all of England. He looked from Pansy to Greg, who was also smiling, though sheepishly.

Draco clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Congratulations, mate. I'm really happy for you. For both of you."

"Would you come?" Pansy blurted out. She and Greg exchanged a look.

Greg nodded to Draco. "You know more about these things than I could."

Draco blinked, panicking for an instant that his friend had indeed deduced his errand. "Why would you say that?"

Greg shrugged. "You know more about … all the finer things. I figured you'd know a lot about stones and metals too."

Draco almost protested. Picking out a ring seemed like something Greg and Pansy should do together. Besides, Draco didn't really know anything about picking out rings. He figured Pansy would find one she picked, point to it, and that would be that. The fact that he was going to pick out a stone for a setting he already had, without Hermione's input, was irregular. But then, he'd never done this before, so he had no idea how one was supposed to go about choosing rings.

If he agreed to go with his friends, however, he would be able to look at stones without raising any suspicion. He'd be able to ask questions and gather information under the pretense of doing so for Greg and Pansy.

"Sure, I'll go," he said. "Though I don't have any experience with … rings of this type."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "Yes, really."

She sniffed. "Well, then I suppose you need the practice, don't you?"

Despite the frigid air, Draco's felt heat suffuse his cheeks.

Pansy noticed and smirked.

"That … what you're implying … is none of your business," he said testily.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Shall we?" Without waiting, she started walking toward Masterson's, pulling Greg—who merely shrugged again at Draco—along with her.

Draco sighed and trudged after them, all hope of subtly selecting a stone for Hermione gone. He'd just have to come back the next day, if he could get away from the Manor. Cassie was due home sometime in the morning, and Masterson's didn't open until eleven. He doubted there would be time to visit the shop before Cassie's homecoming.

Greg opened the door, and Pansy gave him a sweet smile as she stepped through. Draco gritted his teeth and hurried into the warmth of the jewelry store.

There was another couple browsing quietly in one corner under the watchful eye of an employee. As soon as the door chimed, alerting the shop that new customers had arrived, another employee came out of the back room. It was an older man, probably in his eighties. He wore robes out of another era, but he had sharp, dark brown eyes, and Draco knew immediately that this was the shop owner. A quick glance around the room revealed a number of ancient portraits, Mastersons of previous centuries. The man behind the counter was undoubtedly one of them.

"Welcome to Masterson's," he said with a genuinely kind smile. "How may I help you?"

Neither Pansy nor Greg made any move to speak, so Draco nudged Greg in the back, propelling him forward.

"I … we're …." Greg trailed off, looking at Pansy for help.

Draco was surprised that she didn't take charge and step forward. Instead she seemed just as unlikely as Greg to say anything helpful.

So Draco stepped to the counter, taking Greg's free arm and pulling him along. "These two are interested in a ring."

When forced into the spotlight, Greg cleared his throat. "Er, yes. An engagement ring."

Masterson nodded. "You've come to the right place, Mr. …."

"Goyle," Greg supplied. "Greg Goyle. And this is Pansy Parkinson."

"Mr. Goyle, Miss Parkinson. My name is Tobias, and I'll be happy to help you find just the right ring. Congratulations, by the way."

Pansy smiled shyly. "Thank you."

Masterson turned to Draco. "And you're here for moral support, I take it?"

Draco held out his hand. "Draco Malfoy. I suppose you could say that."

"He might be doing some perusing of his own," Pansy said primly, glancing at Draco out of the corner of her eye.

Masterson smiled amusedly. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, whatever brings you in is fine with me. Now, Mr. Goyle. The setting for the ring is very important, as it sets up the stone or stones you will need to fill it. Are you looking for a single stone or more than one?"

Greg looked at Pansy, who merely shrugged. "One stone is fine."

"May we look at both?" Greg asked.

"Absolutely. Let's begin with the single stone settings."

Masterson led the group to a display case and began discussing details about settings. Draco left Greg and Pansy to browse the rest of the wares. When he was sure his friends weren't looking, Draco pulled out the heirloom setting from his mother. He hadn't noticed how many stones would be needed. A quick peek inside the box revealed a space for one very large stone. He couldn't imagine Hermione wearing anything so big and returned the box to his pocket with a frown.

Unfortunately, there weren't any stones on display, so he would have to wait for the others. Not only that, but he'd be unable to ask specific questions about _his_ setting with his friends there. He wondered briefly if it would be possible to alter the setting to accommodate a smaller stone, or perhaps more than one.

When he'd casually examined everything on display, Greg and Pansy were still discussing their setting. Draco had nothing better to do than to observe his friends, which he tried to do without drawing attention to what he was doing.

Pansy had always struck him as the type of woman to know exactly what she wants—at least as far as material things went. Draco couldn't understand at first why she was so hesitant to express her wishes, why a single stone was sufficient. If he'd been asked to predict her selection, he'd have gone with the largest, most ostentatious ring she could get.

But as he watched his friends, he noticed that Pansy was extremely mindful of Greg, considerate of his wishes, and interested in his opinion. When Draco finally caught on to what was going on, he almost fainted—metaphorically speaking, at least.

He was witnessing something he'd never seen before: Pansy in love. The witch was well and truly in love with the wizard standing beside her, so much so that she almost seemed like a different person.

The truth was startling and amazing at the same time. Pansy was happy and confident in herself. She didn't need the largest ring in the store, evinced when she chose a setting to hold a single, one-carat stone. When Masterson magically fit the ring to her finger, Pansy asked Greg if he liked it. It was obvious from the look on her face that she loved her choice, and when Greg agreed, she gave a happy hop and kissed him on the cheek.

Draco shook his head in disbelief. He never imagined Pansy was capable of such depth of emotion, but then he'd never seen her truly care about anyone but herself. He knew deep down that she was capable of it, and it made him truly happy to see her so happy. She needed someone who loved her for her, who didn't want to make her into something or someone else. Greg was exactly that person, and Draco couldn't be more pleased that they'd worked through Pansy's near indiscretion.

"Did you have a particular stone in mind?"

Masterson's voice broke through Draco's thoughts. After one last glance at a set of goblin-wrought, antique cufflinks, Draco made his way to where his friends stood.

"Diamond," said Greg without hesitation. Masterson nodded and disappeared into the back room.

Pansy acknowledged Draco's arrival with a small, bewildered smile. "Find anything you can't live without?"

"Not exactly. There's a handsome pocket watch in the case nearest the door, but it's a bit … much for me." He grinned, knowing it would only frustrate her more.

Pansy huffed impatiently. "Why didn't you listen while Masterson talked about settings? Or have you already been on an information-gathering venture?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "What gives you the idea I'm in the market for a ring, Pansy?"

She glanced briefly at Greg, who had stepped away from them a bit to admire something under the glass, and her expression softened. "I think you're just as happy with her as I am with Greg. So it only makes sense that you'd want to take this step."

He shook his head, chuckling lightly. "I'm reminded of a conversation we had once, one in which you expressed utter disdain at the idea of me marrying her."

Pansy shrugged. "Yes, well. Things have changed. I've changed, in case you hadn't noticed."

Draco gave her a contemplative look. "I have, actually. You give me no credit."

"Here we are, Mr. Goyle, Miss Parkinson." Masterson returned with a tray of diamonds in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

Draco agreed with his mother; he couldn't see Hermione wearing a huge diamond. On the other hand, she had streaks of traditionalism in her, while at the same time questioning the status quo. It was one of her most puzzling, admirable qualities. In that respect, a diamond might be perfectly appropriate.

"There are a few things to consider when selecting a diamond, or any stone for that matter," Masterson began. "First is the cut. As you can see, we offer all of the usual shapes—round, princess, heart, marquise, oval, pear, emerald—plus a few others, such as this very unique star diamond."

"I really like the princess cut," Pansy said.

Masterson tapped the board with his wand and all of the non-princess cut diamonds disappeared. "White diamonds are generally preferred; a diamond in its purest state is pure white. However, some women prefer a colored diamond, and we have a range of those to offer."

Draco examined the different colors available but didn't see anything deep enough for what he imagined. "Are these diamonds all … real?"

Masterson smiled knowingly. "Many magical jewelry stores sell magically created diamonds and other precious stones. However, they are under obligation by wizarding law to reveal this information to customers. These stones are technically perfect but cost less. All of our jewels are real; we have the paperwork for each piece, from the smallest to the biggest."

Draco nodded once, returning to his perusal of the stones. He watched Pansy look over the selection and noticed that her eyes kept going back to the pink diamonds. Chuckling under his breath, he shook his head. Pink was perfectly fitting for Pansy Parkinson.

She eventually sighed and pointed to a modest white diamond. Greg looked at her skeptically. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Pansy put on a smile that Draco recognized as fake immediately.

Apparently, Greg knew it was insincere as well and flicked his gaze to Draco, who shook his head very slightly. Greg then turned to Masterson. "Can we see the stone in the setting?"

Masterson nodded and lifted the stone with a pair of tweezers. He put the setting Pansy had chosen into a vice that would hold it in place, then tapped the diamond over the open setting. The prongs moved in order to secure the diamond in place.

While Pansy tried the ring on her finger, Draco covertly pointed to a slightly larger, pink diamond. Greg nodded.

"What do you think?" Pansy asked Greg after a moment, showing off her hand and wiggling her fingers.

Greg frowned. "I'd like to see … that one." He indicated the pink diamond Draco had suggested.

Pansy's eyes lit up. "Really? Are … are you sure?"

Greg nodded.

Masterson removed the white diamond and inserted the pink one.

Draco knew the ring was perfect, and Pansy's expression upon placing it on her finger was pure bliss.

Greg could barely take his eyes off her face to glance at the ring. "We'll take it."

Masterson smiled. "An excellent choice, Mr. Goyle. Would you like any charms placed on the ring?" He pulled out what looked like a restaurant menu and opened it on the counter. "All of the charms we offer are listed here along with the price for each. I'll get the ring ready while you look this over. We have a few packages available, as you can see at the bottom."

When he disappeared into the back room, Greg turned to Draco. "I suppose this is where we could really use your help."

Draco shrugged and looked at the list. There were many charms available, ranging from simple wards to very complex protection spells—with all manner of charms between. "I … don't think I'll be much help. Aside from the standard package, here, with a set of basic charms, I can't see too much benefit in these charms. They're for extreme circumstances, and frankly, I think Pansy is quite capable with a wand."

She beamed at him. "Thank you, Draco."

Greg ran his finger down the list of spells included in the standard package of charms, then shrugged. "I suppose these are fine."

"They're very basic," Draco commented. "But the price isn't too bad. Spells woven into the very metal of the ring will be more powerful and last longer than spells cast with a wand. They certainly can't hurt."

"Here we are," said Masterson as he reappeared, the ring brandished in his hand. "If this is to your liking, we can discuss the charms. If you don't want any, then the ring is complete. If you do, I can have the ring ready for you by this time tomorrow."

Greg set the list back on the counter. "I think we'll take the standard package."

Masterson smiled. "That is the most popular choice for rings of this nature. Very well, you may pay tomorrow when you pick up the ring, Mr. Goyle."

Greg frowned. "That's it?"

"That's it," said the proprietor kindly. "We like to keep things simple. If you need a quote, I can generate one for you."

"Er, no, that won't be necessary." Greg swallowed. "We'll be back tomorrow, then."

They exchanged parting pleasantries, then Draco followed his friends out of the shop.

"Greg, are you absolutely sure about that ring?" Pansy asked immediately. "I don't need it, I told you I didn't need anything fancy."

"I'm sure," Greg said adamantly. "I want you to have the ring you want, and that's final."

"I just want you," she insisted.

He smiled. "Then we're both getting what we want. Don't worry about it, Pansy. Really. I know what I'm doing."

"If you're positive." She tucked her hand in his elbow.

Greg patted her hand. "I am. Thanks for coming with us, Draco."

Draco shrugged. "I didn't do much, but you're welcome."

"I'm disappointed in you," said Pansy, a slight scold to her tone. "You shouldn't be embarrassed about looking for rings with us around."

"What gave you the impression I wanted to look at rings?" Draco asked, forcing himself not to grit his teeth and roll his eyes.

She smiled mischievously. "I know you, Draco Malfoy. Never forget that. If you aren't looking for a ring, what are you doing here, then?"

"Christmas is in two days," he argued. "It's hardly absurd to be somewhere with a lot of shops. Besides—" Draco stopped mid-thought. He'd almost said that his sister was coming home the next day. How on earth would he tell his friends about Cassie? There was so much to the story he didn't want anyone to know. He'd have to discuss the matter with his parents, see what they planned to do about revealing her existence to the world. Despite the successful mission two nights before, nothing had been published in the _Daily Prophet_ about the rounding up of all remaining Death Eaters. Surely that was news the public would want to hear.

"Well, I don't think you need to worry about her answer," said Pansy smugly. "I've seen the way she looks at you, the way you two interact. She's as wild about you as you are about her."

Draco's thoughts were everywhere but on rings for Hermione now. "Thanks," he said distractedly. "I need to get home. It was great running into you. Congratulations again."

Greg beamed and shook Draco's hand. Pansy sighed and gave him a hug. "Happy Christmas, if I don't see you before then."

"Happy Christmas," Draco replied. Then he turned on his heel and stalked toward the Leaky Cauldron.

Draco stopped halfway there, once he was sure Pansy and Greg had gone. He was torn; he wanted to rush home and talk to his parents, but he also needed to select a stone for the ring he hoped to give Hermione. After spinning in place, he took two steps back toward Masterson's. Then he stopped, wondering if he should just take Hermione with him, as Greg had done with Pansy. That way, he could be sure she'd like the ring.

He turned back toward the pub and stopped again after three steps. He also liked the idea of surprising her, of picking out the stone himself. Frustrated with himself, Draco finally decided to return to the jewelry shop.

The bell sounded when he opened the door, and Masterson soon appeared. His expression was surprised, but only for a moment. "Mr. Malfoy. How can I help you?"

Draco marched right up to the counter and pulled out the setting from his mother. Opening the box, he set it on the counter. Masterson's eyes widened appreciatively. "I'd like to see your selection of blue stones."

**ooo**

**End Notes: **Thank you so much for reading and being patient. I hope to get the next chapter up soon, and without all the distractions I've had the last few weeks, I think that will be very possible.


	36. The Beginning is the End is the Beginnin

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to JK Rowling. I write to learn. No money is being made.**

**Chapter 36 - - The Beginning is the End is the Beginning**

The next morning, Draco returned to the Manor before breakfast. He wanted to be sure he spoke to his parents before Cassie's anticipated arrival, which was scheduled for eleven.

As he walked through the house toward the dining room, where his parents would be just sitting down to breakfast, he fingered the box in his pocket. Selecting a stone the day before had been easier than he'd imagined, and he'd forgone any additional charms. He knew there were already many spells woven into the setting, and Masterson had admitted that he could not improve upon the work already done.

The ring—and the conversation he wanted to have with Hermione—now weighed on his mind, but Draco pushed those thoughts aside. He needed to focus. His parents were sitting together quietly, Narcissa sipping tea while reading a book and Lucius perusing the paper.

Draco knocked on the door jam, alerting his parents to his presence. "Good morning."

"Morning!" said Narcissa brightly, marking her place and setting her book on the seat beside her. "I'm glad you're joining us."

"Don't I always?" Draco asked, taking a seat across from his mother.

Narcissa glanced at Lucius. "Yes, of course. It's just … with Hermione, we're never sure if you might decide to spend the time with her."

Draco nodded and poured himself a cup of tea. The room remained silent as he took a few sips. Then he set the cup down and drummed his fingers on his knee while he gathered the words. "I've noticed there's been no official announcement about what happened here the other night. I ran into Greg and Pansy earlier, and I almost mentioned Cassie. I stopped myself in time, but I was wondering …. What happens now?"

Lucius folded the paper and turned his full attention to his son. "Excellent question. We wanted to wait until after Christmas to break the news."

"All right." Draco folded his hands on the table and stared at his father, waiting for elaboration.

"Your mother and I have already prepared our statements for the _Daily Prophet_. Arrangements have been made for a reporter to come to the Manor the day after Christmas and interview us, along with some of the key figures in the final raid the other night." Lucius clenched his jaw. "Potter included. The story will appear in the next edition."

"What about Cassie?" Draco pressed.

"She's part of the story," Narcissa remarked. "We'll introduce her to the reporter and therefore the world. She'll be the subject of scrutiny and attention for awhile, but hopefully not too long. She knows what to expect."

Draco shook his head. "It's so much, though. She's only eleven, and she'll be an instant source of ridicule, speculation. At such a young age, it's not fair."

"That's true," agreed Narcissa. "But it's bound to happen no matter when we bring her home. And better to include her existence with the story of the final roundup of Death Eaters. Hopefully, some of the attention will be focused on that instead of her."

Draco sighed. "I hope so. For her sake."

"As do we," said Lucius gravely before picking up his paper again.

"I'd like to be present for the interview," Draco remarked.

"Naturally." Lucius didn't even glance up. "You are part of this family, and we're doing this together."

Narcissa smiled at Draco and resumed her breakfast.

He sat very still for a few moments, then put a few scones on his plate and a dollop of lemon curd. But he wasn't hungry; the box in his pocket seemed to be calling to him. Without any fanfare, he removed it and put it on the table, far enough from his plate to indicate that he wanted his parents to see it.

"I bought a stone."

Narcissa looked at him first, her eyes smiling. Then she nudged Lucius, who peered around the paper, his eyes slowly following his wife's gaze until they rested on the ring. He raised one eyebrow at Draco and put the paper down again.

"When was this?" he asked, his voice void of emotion.

Draco pulled the box back to himself. "Last night."

Lucius cleared his throat. "It's final then?"

"No, I haven't … asked Hermione yet." Draco swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He was just waiting for his father to say something horrible, something derogatory about Hermione, something … anything.

Lucius grunted inelegantly. "I don't suppose anything can be said to make you reconsider."

"No, Father. I'm sorry you don't approve, but—"

"It isn't a matter of approving or not," Lucius interrupted. "I simply wonder if she's the best choice."

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's essentially the same thing."

"Not so. I find Miss Granger … agreeable enough, but is she really what you need?" Lucius absently tapped the side of his teacup with a long finger. "You're going to be running the company someday … again … and you'll need someone—"

"I can't imagine anyone better to help me with a business than Hermione. She's smart, logical, thorough—"

"But can she handle the additional duties of being a Malfoy?" Lucius demanded firmly. "She doesn't strike me as the type to play 'dutiful wife' when necessary."

Draco groaned in frustration. "I know all of that," he snapped. "Don't think I haven't asked myself all of those questions and hundreds more. But … the truth is … I want her in my future, and I'm simply not concerned with the rest. It will work itself out. I don't know what she would do, but frankly, I don't care, either. She and I can discuss that issue if she agrees."

"I would hate to see her unduly burdened by the role." Lucius spoke carefully, each word chosen with precision.

Draco could only shake his head as he took a deep breath. "I believe Hermione is equal to the task, but if she isn't, then I'm sure she'll simply reinvent the role."

He expected his father to protest further, to spend the remainder of breakfast attempting to talk Draco out of his decision, but Lucius surprised him. He merely set his jaw, gave a resigned sigh, and returned to the paper.

Draco stared at his father, waiting for … something, anything. When nothing happened for a few minutes, Draco turned to his mother. She smiled but shook her head, a silent request that he not say another word on the matter.

Thoroughly confused and suspicious, Draco had a hard time participating in the rest of the meal. Narcissa talked at length about how excited she was for Cassie's homecoming and about all of the plans she had for her Christmas holiday. He answered any questions directed at him, but couldn't shake the odd tension in the air. What bothered Draco the most was that he couldn't decide if the tension was real or if he simply expected it to be present and was therefore imagining it.

As soon as Lucius set his paper down and drank the last drop of his tea, Narcissa leapt out of her chair as though she'd been sitting on a spring. "Do you have everything you need, Lucius? What about the paperwork they requested, did we get it all signed? It's much colder here than in Paris, be sure to take that heavy wool cloak with you. She'll need a hat and scarf—I've got a few sets wrapped for gifts, but what if she needs one today?"

Lucius calmly put a hand on his wife's arm. "Cissa, she won't be setting foot out of doors in England, you know that. It's straight from her boarding house to the International Floo and then here. I'm sure her cloak is sufficient for a Parisian winter."

She smiled fretfully, wringing her hands. "You're right, of course, darling. It's just that—"

Lucius interrupted by pulling Narcissa close and gently kissing her forehead. Draco looked away, not for the first time feeling as though he was intruding on something intimate between his parents. These moments were so rare—that he saw, at least—that they made him slightly uncomfortable. The tenderness didn't mesh with his perceptions of his father.

"Everything will go smoothly," Lucius assured his wife. "I'll be back before you know it, and Cassie will be home for good."

Narcissa sighed quietly. "I know. I can't wait. Thank you, Lucius."

"Of course, my dear. She's our daughter. I would do anything for her."

Draco couldn't help but glance at his father at those words. Lucius was looking straight at him, and something strange happened inside Draco: he _believed_ his father, and he knew Lucius wasn't just talking about Cassie. He'd said that last bit for Draco's benefit.

"I'm going for a walk," Draco muttered. "Fetch me when you return."

Lucius nodded and Narcissa smiled. Draco hurried out of the room and out of the house.

**ooo**

The Malfoy grounds were extensive, though Draco had been forced to sell off some of the outlying acreage in order to pay the blackmailer. The property line was still far enough from the house that in all directions, all one could see belonged to the estate.

There was an extensive garden behind the house, and a large, open field beyond that which extended to a small forest that surrounded the property. There was a lake with a small lake house, stables, pastures that weren't used anymore. Near the lake there was a large, old tree that looked to be at least two hundred years old. Draco used to climb the tree when he was a boy and he'd spent many hours there, usually following disagreements with his father.

Draco stared at the snow-dusted tree, wondering if he dared climb it now. It amazed him that as a child, he hadn't hesitated. As an adult, he was more coordinated, more sure of himself, but the thought of climbing the tree was daunting. Despite the fact that he _should_ be more adept, the years had also added their share of caution.

He sighed and cleared a spot on the ground to sit, leaning against the massive trunk. He took the ring out of his pocket and stared at it. Telling his father had gone better than he'd expected. Lucius _almost _approved—well, not approved, exactly, but he was at least resigned and hadn't argued too much. He'd said nothing Draco hadn't already considered. All that now remained was to talk to Hermione.

That prospect worried Draco more than telling his father. He had no clue what her reaction might be. Sure, she'd picked him over Charlie Weasley, but that didn't mean she wanted to marry him. At least, not so soon. When he thought about the ring and all that it meant, it definitely felt too soon. They'd only really been together a month.

And yet, at the same time, it _felt_ right. Exactly right; not too soon. It seemed the most natural thing to happen next in his life. He didn't need more time—but maybe she did.

His thoughts turned to the different ways he might broach the subject of marriage, and continued down each path to the varying conclusions.

Soon his mind wandered to other topics, and before he knew it, Chippy appeared beside him with a _pop!_

"You is being requested at home," he squeaked. "The Mistress is arrived."

Draco jumped up, brushed off his robes, and Apparated back to the Manor. He rushed downstairs and ran through the halls in search of his family. He finally found them in one of the front rooms.

Narcissa and Cassie were sitting together on a sofa, talking animatedly, barely pausing between sentences. Lucius stood nearby, an unguarded smile on his face as he casually inserted comments that went largely unheard. He didn't seem to mind.

Draco watched the scene for a few moments and something tightened in his chest. His parents, Lucius especially, were behaving much differently toward Cassie than they ever had with him. He'd known this to be true, but actually seeing it was something else. He thought he'd been prepared for it, but it still hurt. The scene was sweet, joyous and tender, everything such a reunion should be. But it felt as though he were watching a film, not his own parents.

Draco cleared his throat and strode into the room. Lucius straightened immediately, and his expression adopted the familiar hardness Draco was accustomed to seeing. It made him sad. Narcissa didn't bother trying to school her features. The smile she turned on Draco was one of the warmest he'd ever seen from her. Change would start with her, if at all.

Cassie's eyes lit up, and she leapt off the sofa and ran to him. "Draco!" She flung her arms around him with more force than he'd expected.

"Whoa!" He took a step backward as he returned his sister's hug. "Hello, Cassie."

She beamed at him. "I can't believe I'm really here! With you—" She turned around. "And you. My entire family all in one place."

Narcissa rose gracefully. "We are thrilled as well, my dear."

Lucius merely watched. Narcissa looked at him, then back to her children. "Draco, why don't you show Cassie around. We'll meet on the veranda for tea."

"All right," Draco agreed. He glanced at his father, a knot forming in his stomach. Lucius stood stiffly, his expression a cross between a grimace and a smile.

"I can't wait to see the library," Cassie said, clapping her hands together.

The action reminded Draco of Hermione, and he smiled at his sister. "We'll head there directly." He put his hand on Cassie's shoulder to steer her from the room.

As he turned, Draco's gaze fell on his mother. Her eyes said a silent, 'thank you.'

Draco quickly showed Cassie the front rooms, all designed for welcoming guests of various status and purpose of call. When he was certain they'd walked far enough from his parents, Draco slowed his pace.

"What did you think of that exchange?" he asked.

Cassie smiled knowingly. "Papa … changed when you walked in."

Draco sighed. "I'm anxious to see how this goes. Father had always been a certain way with me, quite different than he's been with you."

"He can't always be switching back and forth," she remarked.

Draco nodded. "I wonder which version of him is truer—or at least, which will win out. I suspect that he is happier with the way he is with you. But his relationship with me is much … older, more solid. He may be too set in his ways to change toward me. Merlin knows he can be stubborn."

Cassie frowned. "Do you really think so?"

"I've given it some thought. I had wondered how he would behave with both of us in the room, and though it was just a small glimpse, my suspicions were confirmed." He shrugged. "There's no way to know what he'll do."

Cassie didn't say anything. She took a few steps away from Draco, then turned toward him. "I thought we were heading for the library. Directly."

He chuckled. "You are right. Shall we?"

Draco showed Cassie all of the house, starting with the library—where they dawdled for some time—and ending at his own bedroom. He even showed Cassie the closet he had transformed into a sitting room for his purposes with Hermione.

The whole time, Cassie had a strange smirk on her face. When Draco asked her about it, she looked dramatically around the room. "You still live here. At home."

Draco playfully narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you have an opinion about that?"

"How old are you?" she asked, leaning against his dresser.

He crossed his arms. "Twenty-five."

"You live at home. With your parents." Cassie's smirk grew.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I live in a very large manor where until recently, only my mother also lived."

She merely nodded as though she knew a great secret and he was slow to catch on.

He shook his head. "You'd best watch yourself, my dear. You're treading in dangerous territory. It is not uncommon in certain circles to remain at home until marriage."

"Oh, speaking of that. How is Hermione?" She grinned smugly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "She is well. Was there anything else?"

Cassie gave him a pointed look but said nothing.

Draco shifted his weight. "As it happens, not that I need to defend myself to you, but I am planning on moving out of the Manor after the New Year."

"Oh?" Cassie's eyes sparkled. "Where are you moving? Will you be living with anyone … in particular?"

Draco chuckled. "Hermione lives at Hogwarts, and she'll be there until after the school year ends. However, she bought a house in Hogsmeade, and I'll be renting a room in that house."

"Ah-hah!" Cassie smirked. "So in the summer you'll be living with her."

"Perhaps," he conceded. "Until then, I'll be living with a friend of hers. He's my age, and also still lives with his parents."

She laughed. "Good for both of you."

The clock over Draco's dresser caught his attention. "We should head out back. Mother and Father will be waiting."

She nodded, and together they walked through the house. Lucius and Narcissa were already seated, Lucius with the paper and Narcissa fiddling with her napkin. When Draco and Cassie opened the door, Narcissa glanced up expectantly.

"There you are," she said. "We thought you'd gotten lost."

Lucius gave her a patient look. "Yes, I was so worried," he said sarcastically.

"Well, come join us." Narcissa patted the seat beside her, and Cassie obliged happily.

Draco took the remaining chair.

"The house—I mean Manor—is amazing," said Cassie pleasantly. "Very intimidating. It will take some time to get used to living here, to feeling as though this is my home."

Draco watched his parents. Cassie was refreshingly open with her feelings and opinions, and he wanted to see how they would react. They didn't; which made sense when he thought about it. Narcissa had been spending time with Cassie her entire life, and Lucius as much as he could. They were used to her by now and didn't find her manners extraordinary.

"Whatever we can do to make it more comfortable, just name it," said Narcissa.

Cassie shrugged. "I doubt there's anything that can be done," she said with an encouraging smile. "I simply have to get used to this place as my home."

At that, Narcissa smiled easily. "There's plenty of time, although I do hope it won't take long."

A calm but heavy silence fell. Draco thought of Hermione, but only briefly, because thinking of her led to another thought.

"Cassie," he said. "Where will you be attending school after the holiday?"

She exchanged a brief glance with Lucius, who nodded slightly. "Dad said I can decide where I want to go. Either Hogwarts or Beauxbatons."

Narcissa's brow furrowed slightly. "But darling, you've already established yourself at Beauxbatons. You have friends there; your classes are going well."

The look Cassie gave her mother told Draco that this was not a new topic of conversation.

"I know all of that, mum." Her tone was exasperated. She looked at Draco. "Mum thinks I'll have a hard time at Hogwarts because of my name."

Draco tried to picture his sister at the same school he'd attended. It seemed too soon for there to be a Malfoy at Hogwarts again; the wounds might be too fresh. He frowned. "She has a valid point."

Lucius folded his paper and set it aside. "Cassie will do well wherever she chooses."

Narcissa still fretted. "Remember the last time we discussed this? I asked you a question. Have you considered it?"

"Of course," Cassie replied. "Why do I want to go to Hogwarts? I live here now, don't I?" Narcissa nodded emphatically. "So I want to go to school here as well. I don't want to grow up and not know any of the other witches and wizards my age in England. I want to go to school where my parents went. And my brother."

Lucius smiled proudly, but Narcissa wasn't convinced.

"There's a lot of history with our family here," Draco commented. "Very negative history. However, after what happened the other night, some of that might be forgiven."

Cassie beamed at him.

Narcissa wasn't convinced. "You know how cruel children can be, Draco. Always playing pranks on each other, firing spells in the halls, name-calling …."

"You needn't remind me, mother," he said tersely. "I was one of the cruel children. Though, if those are your only requirements, then most children at Hogwarts would fit the description."

"See?" said Cassie impatiently. "That sounds like fun! Everything is so proper at Beauxbatons. I would like to shoot a spell at someone in the hall if I get the mind to."

Lucius laughed. "You'll be in Slytherin, I've no doubt of that."

Even Narcissa cracked a tiny smile. "Well, there's no need to decide right now. You've got time. Let's get through Christmas, at least."

Cassie nodded somewhat reluctantly, and the conversation moved in another direction. Draco contributed when he had something to say, but he enjoyed watching his new family interact. It wasn't long before Cassie had Lucius softened, and Draco thought he saw some of what Cassie admired in her father. It saddened him briefly that he and Lucius would never have the same kind of relationship, but then he realized it was possible to start over, if they were both willing.

Narcissa and Cassie had plans for the afternoon that involved Cassie's bedroom suite. Draco wanted to visit Hermione, so he excused himself before anyone could ask for his time.

Once he'd stepped through the Floo into Hermione's suite, he let out a long breath. He had no idea he'd been so tense until he was away from his family. The day had gone remarkably well so far, but he'd been on edge the entire time. Just being away from the Manor for a little while would do him some good.

Soft, vibrant music was playing from somewhere in the suite.

"Hermione?" he called.

"In here!"

He found her in the sitting room, on the floor, brightly colored paper, ribbons, bows, and all manner of wrapping accoutrements strewn around her. A half-empty glass of wine sat on a nearby table. She grinned, radiating joy. Draco felt all remaining tension melt away, and he sat down on the edge of her mess.

"Having a good time?"

"I love wrapping presents," she explained, adding a bow to her most recent package and adding it to the finished pile.

"I would have thought you'd have done this already," he remarked. "Christmas is just a day and a half away."

She shrugged. "I like to wrap everything at once, and I only just finished my shopping this morning."

"Oh?" he said, surprised. "I thought you were finished."

Hermione bit her lip. "I … had one more person to buy for." She gave him a slightly put-out look. "What do you get for someone who gave you a house?"

He felt a tinge of regret, then waved a hand dismissively. "You don't need to get me anything."

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a hard look. "Don't be ridiculous. I wanted to."

"I mean it."

"Well it's too late. I wrapped yours first because I didn't know when you might be popping in." She smiled again. "I want to hear about your morning while I keep working."

Draco sighed and obliged her. When he got to the discussion about Cassie's schooling, he paused. "Hermione?"

"Hmm?" She had a tape dispenser in her mouth.

"How do you think Cassie would do at Hogwarts?"

After finishing a package, she put down her supplies and took a sip of wine. "She's a smart girl, and she's only missed a few months of her first year. She can't be far behind, if at all. I'm sure she'll do fine."

"I don't mean in her classes." He rested his elbows on his knees and furrowed his brow, willing Hermione to read his thoughts and know what he was asking without him having to say it.

"She's friendly, pleasant to be around, and laughs easily," Hermione supplied. "I don't think she'll have any problems making friends."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "No, I mean …. She's a Malfoy. A surprise Malfoy, at that. I'd always imagined more time would pass before another Malfoy would be a student here. I'm not sure it's been long enough for the forgiveness of time."

"Oh." Hermione stood up and sat beside him. She put a hand on his arm. "Hogwarts now is very different from the school you and I attended. There are still some old sentiments, but for the most part, they aren't tolerated the way they once were. I am sure she'll be all right. Besides, she's a Malfoy." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "That lot has a way of surviving through just about anything."

Draco chuckled darkly. "More than you can imagine."

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I want to know." Then she sighed. "What do your parents think?"

"Mother wants her to return to Beauxbatons. Lucius isn't worried."

Hermione went to her stack of wrapped presents and pulled one free. She held it out to Draco. "Would you give this to Cassie when your parents aren't around?"

He accepted the gift and shook it gently. It was heavy, even for a book. "What is it?"

"I … I thought Cassie might like to read about her new school."

Draco laughed. "You bought her 'Hogwarts: A History'?" He smiled when Hermione's cheeks pinked slightly.

"It's the newest edition," she explained defensively. "Not even available for purchase yet."

He smiled. "I think she'll love it."

She eyed him warily, as though waiting for him to laugh. When he didn't, she relaxed. "I hope so. Remember, not around your parents."

"I know," he assured her. Then he cleared his throat. "Speaking of Christmas … have you decided about tomorrow night? Mother asked about you, and I didn't know what to tell her."

Hermione returned to her spot in the middle of her wrapping supplies and picked up another package. "I'll be joining your family for dinner, then going to my parents' for dessert."

"And Christmas Day?" he pressed. All he wanted to hear was that she wanted to see him, that it was important to her. It was a silly desire, but he wanted to know that it meant something to her.

She gave him a quizzical look. "I'll be going to the Burrow with my parents, as usual. You're welcome to join me."

He frowned slightly; her lack of enthusiasm wasn't encouraging.

"Now you're fishing, Draco," she remarked, pausing in her wrapping.

The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. He was indeed. Admitting this, however, was the last thing he would do. Instead, he got off the sofa and held out a hand.

She didn't take it. "I'm not quite finished. I have a few presents still to wrap."

Draco took out his wand and flicked his wrist a few times. The four remaining packages were lifted into the air, and wrapping paper soon followed. The paper folded itself around each gift, excess paper was magically trimmed, and in less than a minute, the task was complete.

Hermione gave him an amused yet displeased look. "I _like_ this part of the holidays."

Once again, he held out his hand. This time, she took it.

"Yes, but you know how impatient I can be," he said, helping her stand and pulling her close. "I hate to be kept waiting."

She pretended to resist. "What makes you think I'm not going to make you wait longer?"

He pressed his lips to hers, gently at first, then more demanding. Just as she relaxed into the kiss, letting go of her pseudo-anger, he pulled away, enjoying the perturbed look on her face. "Because I know you. You aren't annoyed enough. Had I wrapped a few more gifts for you, then maybe. But you've been waiting to hear about Cassie's arrival all day, and you've been thinking about me for as long."

Hermione pursed her lips, then shook her head and smiled. "You're right," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Now, where were we?"

Draco grinned and pulled her to the bedroom.

**ooo**

That night, Draco couldn't sleep. He felt … light, as though all the weight that had rested on his shoulders was finally lifted. If he closed his eyes, he felt he might float away, like a balloon released from a child's hand. It was frightening and exhilarating—he could end up anywhere, blown any direction by the winds of the world.

He wasn't quite sure what it meant. He looked at Hermione, sleeping peacefully beside him, and experienced the same sensation. A sort of emptiness, a hollow feeling, thudded dully in his heart.

It didn't make sense. He was completely happy, he wanted to be with Hermione, didn't want to be anywhere else.

And yet.

Draco got out of bed carefully so as not to wake Hermione. He put on a cloak and went onto her small balcony. The cold air bit at his skin until he cast a warming charm on the cloak.

The world was still and silent, the moon casting a silver glow on the snow-covered grounds around Hogwarts. Despite the charm, Draco could see his breath when he exhaled.

Draco couldn't quite put his finger on the thoughts that were drifting through his mind. They floated lazily, glancing the fore of his consciousness but not sticking long enough to coalesce into anything useful. He sighed and leaned on the railing.

The scene was perfect. His life was … well, certainly not perfect, but good. Maybe for the first time in his life.

And yet ….

He was wide awake, something alive in his blood he hadn't felt in a long time. Draco frowned at the pristine winter landscape before him. He couldn't make sense of his underlying restlessness. It was almost as though he wasn't satisfied, even though he knew he was. He had everything in his life he could possibly want or need.

And yet.

How could he not be content? He had Hermione, a new sister, freedom. His relationship with his parents was better than ever; what was more, he actually _wanted_ a relationship with them. There was a side to them he'd only recently been shown, and he hoped to see more of it. There was no good reason for him to want to leave and explore the world.

But he did, nonetheless.

**ooo**

Hermione closed the door behind her, releasing a sigh of relief. She pulled her heels off and leaned against the solid slab of wood, thankful to let something else support her for a moment.

Elizabeth Granger appeared and smiled warmly at her daughter. "I thought I heard those squeaky hinges."

"Hi, Mum." Hermione embraced her mother tightly.

"How was dinner with the Malfoys?" Elizabeth asked.

Hermione smiled. "I'll tell you all about it once I'm snuggled up on the sofa with my hot chocolate."

Elizabeth smiled. "I'll make us a cup while you get changed."

Hermione nodded and made her way to the guest room. She took off her dress, a fancy garnet silk piece Narcissa had bought for the occasion, and put on her comfiest pair of pajamas.

It was tradition. Every Christmas Eve, after dinner Hermione and her parents would make hot chocolate, get comfortable, and watch "It's a Wonderful Life." The movie carried extra significance after the war, and Hermione used it to remember what she'd done and why. She never wanted to forget that she could have so easily lost her parents to the memory charms she'd cast.

Still, Hermione wished she was with Draco. He'd never seen the movie, and she wanted to share it with him. She wanted to share a lot with him, which was frightening. She'd been ready to accept a marriage proposal just five days earlier that hadn't come. And it had been on her mind ever since.

Hermione grabbed the blanket she'd brought and went into the living room. Everything set up, the movie queued, and a steaming mug of hot chocolate waiting for her. Her parents were talking quietly, and they stopped when they noticed her.

Richard looked up at Hermione. "Hey, sweetie. Join us."

A lump formed in Hermione's throat, and she was hit with a strange realization that this could be the last time it was just the three of them like this. Tears threatened as she took her place between her parents. She didn't look at them, afraid she'd lose her composure. Hermione's mum handed her the mug and started the movie.

Even with Charlie, Hermione hadn't felt the way she did now. She'd believe she belonged with him, would marry him, and yet she'd never experienced the bittersweet realization that things would change. It was further proof that she'd made the right decision, that the way she felt for Draco was different, better than what she'd felt for Charlie.

She smiled and forced herself to stop thinking and enjoy the time with her parents.

After the movie, Hermione's father gave her a hug and retired for the evening. He claimed he was tired, but Hermione suspected he wanted to give her and Elizabeth time to talk.

"Well?" plied Elizabeth as soon as her husband was out of earshot. "How was it? I've been thinking about you all night."

Hermione sighed and pulled the blanket around her tightly. "It went fine. The Malfoys were very gracious hosts."

"Even Lucius?" Elizabeth asked.

Hermione nodded. "He was very talkative, unlike previous times I've been around him. He asked me a lot of questions. Even wanted to know about you and dad—what you do, what a dentist does." She didn't tell her mother that Lucius seemed especially curious about the social and economical status of dentists in the Muggle world.

"And how was Narcissa? Draco?"

"Narcissa was the perfect hostess, very welcoming." Hermione smiled at the thought of Draco. "He was … a bit subdued, didn't speak as much as usual, but then …." Hermione wasn't sure how much, if anything, she was allowed to tell her parents, but she saw no harm in it, either. The whole wizarding world would know very soon.

"But then …." Elizabeth prompted.

Hermione told her mother about Cassie. She left out the darker details and answered Elizabeth's questions as best she could. When Hermione finished, her mother sat in silence with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"That poor woman," she said finally.

Hermione frowned. "Who? Narcissa?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I can't imagine being separated from my child for so long."

A pang of guilt washed over Hermione, but a kind look from her mother quieted her discomfort.

"The circumstances were very different," Elizabeth reassured her. "And we agreed to the separation, the magic. Narcissa only consented because she had to. And at least we didn't remember what we were missing. Narcissa was away from her baby almost from the moment of her birth. No parent should have to go through that."

"It must have been hard," Hermione agreed. "Narcissa is very happy to have Cassie back in England."

"And how is Draco faring in all this?"

"Well," Hermione said, "He's had some time to get used to the idea, and he's a good brother. He loves Cassie. He's older, mature, so he won't be hurt or jealous of the attention she'll be getting."

Elizabeth remained silent.

"She's not much like the other Malfoys," Hermione remarked. "I think she'll do wonders for the entire family and for their standing in the wizarding world. It they're willing to be so visible, so vulnerable. They are terribly prideful. Lucius especially."

"I look forward to hearing how the news is received."

Hermione yawned. "I hope the fervor dies quickly so they can get settled into a normal family dynamic." She chuckled. "As normal as the Malfoys can be."

"Hopefully they've learned from their mistakes with Draco."

Hermione nodded. "I know they have. Cassie is stubborn like her father, but she's kind and fair. And growing up away from their poison has made her very generous and unaffected. I have high hopes for her. She won't be easily swayed to their opinions on blood superiority, should they attempt it."

"Especially if her sister-in-law is Muggleborn."

Heat crept into Hermione's cheeks. "Mum, there is no need to talk like that. Draco and I are a long way from taking such a step."

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled. "If you say so."

Hermione narrowed her eyes speculatively. "I do say so. And on that note, I think I'll go to bed. Before you can bombard me with more of your baseless insinuations."

Her mother smiled. "Of course, dear. Good night."

**ooo**

The next day, Hermione opened presents with her parents. She got books, a quill, socks, and a new scarf and hat. Then they all made ten pies to take to the Burrow. An anxious feeling settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach and she couldn't shake it. When they arrived at the Burrow, she was so on edge that she just wanted the day to be over. But she had no idea why she felt that way.

As they did every year, Hermione and her parents arrived early. It wasn't long before Hermione was so busy with getting the meal ready that she forgot her nerves. However, if she paused even for an instant, they'd hit her again.

When everything was essentially ready, Hermione was released from kitchen duty. She went outside to the magically heated garden and sat on a bench.

After a few minutes, someone joined her. She knew him without looking. The way he sat down, the feel of him beside her were so familiar. Maybe those impressions would forever be ingrained in her mind.

"Hello, Charlie," she said with a soft smile.

Charlie put his arm on the bench behind Hermione and slouched in his seat, the picture of comfort. "Where's Malfoy?" he asked.

Hermione didn't respond; she knew he wasn't really interested in the answer. "Happy Christmas, Charlie."

They were silent for a few minutes. A few of the kids ran past them in a spirited game of tag.

"You're going to marry him, aren't you?" Charlie finally said.

Hermione sighed. "That subject hasn't been broached by either of us."

Charlie stared directly ahead and tapped his foot agitatedly. "But if he asked, you'd say yes."

It was a statement rather than a question, and it made Hermione's heart pound. "I would," she replied quietly.

He nodded, then chuckled. "That's what I thought. I just wanted you to know … I'm … giving up."

Hermione opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

"I still care about you, still want you, but I can't keep dwelling on it. On you." He took his arms off the back of the bench and leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. "Planning, plotting … wishing. I need to move on."

Blood rushed in her ears, and her palms were sweaty. She almost reached out and took his hand. Part of her heart threatened to protest, and it took her a moment to recover. She shouldn't be surprised at her reaction, really. Charlie had been a huge part of her life, and she'd once believed she'd marry him. It wasn't unexpected for her to be a bit sad at the news he would no longer want her.

She fidgeted, wanting to take his hand in friendship but knowing it wouldn't be kind. She did nothing. "I wish you all the best."

He sighed. "As do I for you. I only—" He stopped himself, took a breath, and restarted. "If wishes were thestrals, right?"

She couldn't suppress a laugh. "What a different world it would be."

A few more moments of silence reigned.

Charlie clapped a hand on his leg. "Well, enjoy dinner. I'm leaving in the middle. I got word this morning about an escaped dragon in China. Not sure how long I'll be away."

Hermione could tell he wanted her to ask questions, to worry, to miss him. And she did want to know more, but they needed some closure, separation. Space. "Have fun," she said lightly.

He grinned, pain just barely visible at the edge of his eyes. "As always." Charlie stood, shoved his hands into his pockets, nodded once, and turned away.

When he disappeared around a corner, Hermione let out a relieved breath. She imagined Charlie going to China and falling in love with a Chinese witch. A single pulse of sadness darted through her—not solid enough to leave an impression—the barest hint.

So it was done, all well and truly over with Charlie. It had been for her part for a while, of course, but … there was something kind of nice and safe about knowing he still wanted her. She still cared for him, just not the way she once had.

Hermione was lost in thought until Harry found her.

"Hey," he called, coming around the house. "Glad I found you. It's time for dinner."

She started at his voice, then chuckled to herself.

"All right?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Just … thinking." Hermione stood and followed him.

"That's so surprising for you," Harry joked.

Hermione elbowed him lightly.

Two large picnic tables were in the garden, set for twenty-four people. All of the Weasleys, Hermione's family, Draco, and some of Arthur's coworkers without families had been invited. The Weasleys were extremely generous.

It took Hermione a moment to realize that Draco was already there and talking to Ron. He looked as though he were trying his best to appear at ease but not quite managing. His shoulders were tense, but he kept trying to force himself to relax.

The fact that Draco hadn't come looking for her immediately upon his arrival was surprising. It pleased her, to know that he was making such an effort to be on good terms with her friends.

She joined him and Ron. They barely greeted each other before they were called to sit and eat.

All through the meal, Hermione's unease seemed to grow. Her stomach fluttered every time she made eye contact with Draco, almost the way it had when she first started having feelings for him. It was strange, delightful, and unnerving. She decided she was nervous because she didn't know how he would like her gift and what it meant. She hoped she'd get to give it to him soon after the meal.

Finally, the pies were distributed, and Hermione and her mother received the usual chorus of approval and praise. This was followed by a few minutes of silence while the desserts were consumed, and then talk of the next Quidditch game started.

Harry encouraged Draco to play, and it appeared he would, to Hermione's disappointment. But then he seemed to think twice and told Harry he'd join the next game.

Harry nodded and ran off, calling out instructions as he went.

Draco took Hermione's hand and gave it a light tug. She followed as he led her to a secluded wooded area just beyond the garden that was still covered by the warming charm. In the middle of a small clearing sat her orange sofa.

She let out a nervous laugh. "My sofa! I thought Ron had it."

He shrugged. "He did, but I guess he brought it here. I asked him for somewhere private but also comfortable to talk to you, and he directed me here."

She grinned. "So you admit it's comfortable."

"I never said it wasn't," he said playfully. "I can't tell you how many times I thought about you and this sofa."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? What about me and this sofa?" He laughed, and she felt much of her tension fall away.

"Give me two minutes with wards and I'll show you." Draco smirked, then led her to the piece of furniture.

She thought he meant to make good on his teasing, but instead he sat down awkwardly beside her.

"I wanted to give you your gift," he said, taking a long, thin package out of his pocket.

Hermione's stomach twisted like a school of angry fish, and she inwardly groaned as the ball of nerves returned. Gingerly, she accepted the simply wrapped present and opened it, trying to keep her hands from trembling.

Inside the wrapping was a box. Hermione opened it to find a thin, delicate silver chain. Whatever she'd been expecting, this wasn't it.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, partly from surprise, partly from the beauty of the chain. It was simple in design but expertly crafted.

"You hate it," he concluded.

"No!" Hermione assured him. "Not at all, it's stunning. It's … perfectly me."

Draco looked at her intensely for a moment, studying her eyes. Eventually, he nodded. "I'm glad you like it."

The entire exchange felt forced, awkward. Hermione wasn't sure what was going on, but there was something most definitely out of sorts.

"Do … you want your present now?" she asked.

He pinked slightly. "If you'd like to give it to me."

Hermione felt like screaming. She wanted to shake him by the shoulders and demand that he tell her what was going on, but something in his demeanor stopped her. He was on edge too, as though he'd started on a course of action that couldn't be altered but he wasn't sure of his direction.

She took his gift out of her bag and handed it to him.

Draco turned the box over a few times, stared at is quizzically. Then he looked at her and smiled. It was tight but genuine, and she relaxed a little. "What is it?" he asked.

"Why do people always say that?" she said, a little exasperated. "You're not supposed to know what's in the box until you open it, not before. That's why it's a present. Just … open it." She waved a hand at the package.

"It's not a book," he stated, pulling at the ribbon.

Hermione watched as he attempted to open the gift without tearing or creasing the paper. Then he handed her the trimmings and studied the box with great focus.

"It's … a camera?"

Draco was so puzzled that Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, it's a camera, Draco."

He examined the box for a few moments. "It's Muggle."

Hermione sat up straight, the teacher in her coming to her rescue. "It is. The only Wizarding photos I've ever seen are of people, and of course they move. But there are things in the world you might want to capture that don't move. You might want to capture a building, a mountain, a tree. This is a top-notch camera." She swallowed. "I thought you could use it for your trip."

Draco stiffened and frowned at the camera. "My … trip. You're still thinking about that."

She sighed. "Yes. I still think you should go."

He nodded slowly, still frowning, and was silent for a long moment. "Me too."

Hermione almost gasped. It felt as though someone had sucked all the breath from her lungs. Her heart started pounding. "You do."

Draco stretched his legs. "I've been thinking about it. I think you're right. That should please you." The smile he gave her was easy, as though the strangeness of the preceding moments had never existed.

She tried to smile. It sort of worked. "So you're going? When?"

"I'm not sure. After the new year."

Hermione couldn't settle on how she felt. She'd been telling him to go on his adventure since their working relationship began. She truly believed it would be best for him, but she was also afraid of what it might mean for their relationship. He'd been denying his need for the trip, telling her he wouldn't go for so long that she'd started to believe him. Now that he was talking about it, planning to go, her fears returned.

"I'll still pay my part of the rent."

"Don't be ridiculous." Hermione had to force her voice to remain steady. "You're not paying for a space you're not occupying. I can find someone else to live with Ron until I'm finished with school."

"I said I would," he stated. "Besides, I don't want to have to kick someone out when I return."

She looked at him sharply, too much going through her mind. But before she could begin to piece together a question, he spoke again.

"I need to know what this means. For us." He took her hand and held it fast, meeting her worried gaze.

"You tell me." Hermione chuckled nervously. "You're the one who's leaving."

Confusion flashed through Draco's eyes. "I thought you were okay with it."

"I am," she blurted. "Of course I am."

Draco frowned and put his hands in his pockets. "The thing is, Hermione, I'm not sure how to do this."

Now her heart was threatening to burst through her ribcage. She'd never really given much thought to what would happen if and when he left, but she'd assumed they would stay together. Maybe he'd realized he wanted total freedom after all, or he was no good at long distance relationships. That wouldn't surprise her one bit.

"Do what, exactly?" she asked deliberately.

He removed his hands, but now he was holding something. She couldn't tell what it was; it was too small. But he looked at it for a few minutes, turned it in his hands, and finally answered.

Draco handed her a small velvet bag. "I know we haven't talked about this, but it's what I want."

The bag was very light, and Hermione couldn't guess what was in it. At least, she couldn't quite believe that what she wanted to be in the bag might possibly be in the bag.

"You already gave me a Christmas present," she said flatly. Her hands were frozen.

"I know. This … goes with it. But it's very much not a Christmas present."

"What is it?" she asked a little too harshly.

Draco smirked. "You have to open it."

Hermione nerves were spinning. The bag contained something to go with the necklace, so it must be a charm of some kind. Perhaps something magical, a way for them to keep in touch while he was away? She fumbled with the drawstring but finally got the bag open.

Then she hesitated a moment before dumping the contents on her palm. She refused to get her hopes up, refused to think about what this might or might not be, what it could mean, what—

Draco grabbed the hand holding the bag and turned it over so that the object inside fell out. "You think too much," he grumbled. "Now open your eyes. Merlin, you're making this hard."

Hermione did as instructed and looked at her open hand. It wasn't a charm; it was exactly what she hoped and feared it would be: the most beautiful ring she'd ever seen.

She gasped. "Draco!"

"I've thought about this a lot," he said, releasing her hand and standing to pace the ground in front of the sofa. "I know it probably seems sudden and maybe even too soon. But I hope you'll want to wear it."

Hermione waited, expecting more, but she quickly realized he was finished. She turned the ring over in her hand, amazed that she was holding an engagement ring from Draco Malfoy. He wanted to marry her! She smiled briefly, her eyes on the ring.

"What were you not sure you could do?" she asked eventually, glancing up enough to see that he'd stopped a few feet away from her.

"Give you the ring, when I'm going to leave. Ask you to wait." He shifted his weight. "I thought about Charlie, how he left you, in a way, and never came back, even though you were expecting him. I don't want to do that; I want you to _know_ I'm coming back. For you. Never doubt that."

Hermione tried to speak, but he held up a hand to stop her. "Let me finish. I've been going over these lines for days now."

She nodded.

"For months, you've been telling me to go on this trip, to get it out of my system, and I didn't think it was necessary." Draco resumed pacing. "But now, with everything over, the dust settling, I find I'm drawn to go. To get out of England, away from my family and from the eyes that have been on me since I was sixteen, to be anonymous. I want to buy lemons without the checkout person double counting my change. My parents and Cassie are telling the world about everything tomorrow. They need time to settle into their new lives.

"I've only been thinking this way for a few days, but the pull is powerful. Yet I couldn't imagine leaving you. I was afraid that if I did, we'd fall apart. Maybe this wouldn't last, maybe it's only worked because of the intensity of what we've been doing. Maybe it would disappear when I did."

"Draco—"

"My mother gave me that setting only a week ago, but it made me think. Here was a way I could assure you of everything I've been saying, even though I have to go. I'm not asking for an answer now. Take your time, I know you like to weigh your options before acting. You can even wear it on the chain instead of your hand, if you'd like. I don't know how people would react to hearing about us engaged but me off traveling the world without you.

"If you want to give it back, I'll understand. I don't know how long I'll be gone. It could be two weeks, it could be a year."

"A year!" she exclaimed.

He shook his head. "It won't be a year. My point is that I don't know. But if you return it, I'll just keep it safe so that I can give it to you later." He finally stopped and looked at her.

Hermione held his gaze for a few seconds, then looked at the ring. It didn't surprise her that Draco had put a lot of thought into this. She considered scolding him for doubting the strength of her attachment, but then she realized he probably didn't know. She'd never really shared with him the depth of her feelings, preferring instead to be in the moment and not worry about where things were headed.

There was no doubt in her mind what she would do, but she appreciated the silence to think anyway, to solidify her answer before giving it.

She held the ring out to him. "I'll need you to put this on for me. I'm rather traditional when it comes to certain things."

Draco stared searchingly at her, then closed his hand around hers. He sat on the sofa beside her and took the ring from her. "So you believe me."

"Absolutely," she said without hesitation. "You will fulfill this promise."

"And you'll wait for me?" He held the ring between two fingers.

"Of course."

He nodded once, then slipped the ring onto Hermione's finger. Her eyes went immediately to her hand, wanting to admire the new addition, but Draco had other plans. He took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly. It was full of everything Draco, passionate yet sweet, intense but light, the perfect kiss for the moment. Tears pricked her eyes.

"You're going to be my wife," he said when he released her.

She shivered; he could probably turn her on just by reading the dictionary.

Draco's eyes burned, and he kissed her again. This time there was nothing light about it. He wrapped an arm around her gently laid her down.

"I put up so many wards it would take a team of Aurors, trained dragons, and probably a crystal ball to find us," he murmured.

Hermione laughed

There were a number of objections she could have made—they were a mere thirty feet from the Weasleys; her parents were close by; they were in the middle of the winter woods—but nothing really mattered.

**ooo**

As they lay nestled together on the orange sofa, Draco ran his fingers through Hermione's hair. She was breathing softly, her hand making slow circles on his chest. He hadn't expected her to say yes so quickly, so easily. He feared she would doubt him, since she'd always been so sure that he would go on his trip and want to stray.

Maybe she finally understood; she was brilliant, after all.

He was finally free.

**THE END**

**End Notes:** Thank you for reading! Thank you for your patience. I can't believe it's actually finished.

I started writing this story in 2008 while living in France. I'd planned to write the entire thing and post once it was all done, but I got trigger happy in 2009 with 7 chapters left to write. I figured, hey, I can write 7 chapters in 8 months, how hard can THAT be? (nervous chuckles) And here we are. I posted chapter 35 in December of 2009. Then in January 2010, I had a baby. And now it's February 2011! LOL.

This chapter was literally written all year long. I'd write a sentence here, a sentence there, a few paragraphs in the car. The mental energy it takes to devote oneself fully to a story is incredible but nothing compared to a baby.

More than anything, I wish I'd finished before the baby came. I had NO idea how it would turn my world upside-down and inside-out. I hated having an incomplete story just sitting on the internet, waiting … waiting …. I'd always said I would never not finish a story, and I always intended to finish this. It just took much longer than I'd ever imagined!

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed during the last year. Even the annoying ones, prompting me for an update, were motivational—if only to make them stop! Just kidding. I got a review from Kyra Jack midway through December that said "I suspect that we may have lost you to motherhood" and my first reaction was "NO, NO! I am not lost to motherhood!" While I adore being a mom, and I treasure my little girl, I am still me, and I still love writing. I'm just on loan to motherhood right now!

However, it was that review more than any others that got me going. I wrote 2/3 of this chapter since that review. LOL.

Now, who else to **thank**? My betas, of course: drcjsnider and somandalicious. Thank you for making me think and question and look at things from a different perspective. Manda for being the godmother of my story, for whipping out the claws when the occasion required it, for cheering me, correcting me, encouraging me, and hanging out with me. And the beautiful header on the floofics comm.. ILOVEYOUGIRL! Inadaze22 for the LOLZ, for the playlist, the cheers, for trying to think of titles of chapters (I FAIL AT THIS ESSENTIAL SKILL!). ILOVEYOUTOO!

Thanks also to everyone who did art for this story: melia_eothria, silverotter1, pink_martini2, waterytart_11, arthicule, marmaladefever, itsbeenvery, moonjameskitten, 75marshy, kalina_blue, liltinybee, Scarlet Lady, kryptiq, sb123, maaiker, cemicool, draconis23, _vintagebomb, drcjsnider, and riptey. Wow, that is an all-star list! Check out the art gallery to view all the fantastic images for this story. Truly, I love art almost as much as I love writing, and artwork for this story is beyond fantastic. I can't thank you enough!

Finally, I want to assure you that this story ended exactly the way I'd always meant for it to end. This wasn't a cop-out ending, a quick-wrap-it-up-and-get-it-done ending. From the start, this was the end. There will not be a sequel. There probably won't be an epilogue. They probably end up together and happy. They won't always be in love, but they love each other fiercely. And that is what really matters.


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